Rubicon
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: Lord Beckett's wife joins him in the Caribbean just as the seas fall under her husband's control. Sequel to My Friendliest.
1. Anne: January 12, 1731

**Summary/Author's Note: **Hello everyone and welcome to the first chapter of Rubicon! This fic is the sequel to "My Friendliest" and will be told in a series of diary entries written by Lord Beckett and his wife. For those of you who are not familiar with classic history, the Rubicon is the river Julius Caesar crossed when he first began to seize Rome for himself. I do not have a beta, so any mistakes are my fault and my fault alone. Any and all feedback is highly appreciated. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

January 12, 1731

Dearest Diary,

There is much to tell, but time is scarce. The noise from downstairs rattles the entire house and my young son cries loud and often. Such disturbances trouble him and I have been hard put to lull him to sleep. For hours I rested him upon my breast and still he would not quiet. At last I handed him off Agnes who managed to calm him. She hummed a little tune and walked him round and round the room until he fell asleep. I dare not move from my place by the window now, lest I should disturb him.

Oh, what a frantic week it has been! On Monday morn, I sat at my dressing table brushing my hair. Heavy clouds settled over the rising sun and there was a frost on the ground. I had just risen and was still garbed in only my nightclothes when Agnes came rushing into my room in a most excited state.

"My lady, there is a man from Port Royal to see you. A right tall and fine man with a blue coat. He's downstairs in the parlor." She said all this in such a rush that I could barely understand her. But when I did, such fear was mine.

Could some ill have befallen Cutler? I could not breathe and my heart beat so fast that the room spun before my own eyes. But dear Agnes was quick to allay my fears. She said at once that he had a message from my husband, an important message.

In haste, I dressed and hurried down to meet the gentleman. He stood looking out the far window, as Cutler often did and he had his hands linked behind his back. So tall was he that for a moment I was afraid. What if he meant harm?

Several footmen were standing by and I requested that they accompany me into the parlor. It is not wise for a lady of fine breeding to face a strange man on her own, especially one from such a torrid place as the Caribbean.

My fingers trembled but I folded my hands over my middle and addressed the gentleman. He seemed startled and he hunched his broad shoulders, like a dog that has been so cruelly whipped. Yet then he turned and smiled and offered me a regal bow.

A strange man he was. So very tall and handsome and possessing such an air of stoic control. But his eyes ached and there was terrible pain behind his smile. I thought his heart must be broken.

"My Lady Beckett." His tone sounded warm, full and fresh. Before I could respond he produced a letter and requested that I read it. He needed no further introduction.

I took a brief moment to read the note, though I found my eyes blurred with tears and I could no longer distinguish the words. The man was silent and patient as I fought to subdue my fierce emotions.

As it is, Cutler has sent for me. My joy cannot be measured in words or vague thoughts. I can only say that I am happy and so wonderfully relieved.

After I had finished with the note, I looked back at the man. "James Norrington?" I asked for the letter indicated his identity.

"Yes, my lady." He bowed once more, his hat tucked beneath his arm.

"You have come to collect me, then." We sat across from each other by the hearth. Agnes brought a tray of tea and biscuits. Mr. Norrington looked famished.

"Your husband has decreed that I escort you to Port Royal," he said. He was a true gentleman and waited for me to choose a biscuit before he lifted a finger. "We are business associates, if you will." Something darkened his eyes when he spoke, but I did not question him. "I have a ship, the _Ardent Lassie_, anchored in the harbor. I should hope to depart in several days as soon as you have settled your affairs and I have seen to mine."

"Your affairs, sir?" I did not mean to press him but curiosity is my foe. He seemed ashamed then.

"Your husband has also requested that I pay a visit to your uncle. He wishes…"

But I would not let him finish. My indifference alone caused me shame. "Lord Beckett wishes you to challenge my uncle to a duel. He was always fond of dueling himself and I suppose he wishes his satisfaction, even in the Caribbean. My uncle is old, sir."

"I have my orders, my lady." His face looked drawn. "I must…"

"I do not wish to dissuade you, Mr. Norrington," I told him. "I only wish to inform you that if you have any skill with a sword, victory shall be yours. But I must ask, do you not want to know what it is you fight for?"

He lowered his eyes and once more hunched his shoulders. "That is not my business, my lady. I have my orders."

"My uncle called me a whore, sir. You fight for my honor." I said it with little fuss and did not regret it. If he was truly an associate of my husband, he would know not to repeat my words. If so, Cutler would see to him with his own blade.

Such is the worth of being wed to an ambitious and feared man. My mother might call me a horrid whelp, but here I am, a noblewoman whilst she descends into poverty.

I must confess I felt a great sense of giddiness come over me when I saw Mr. Norrington's oppressed expression. Poor man! I daresay he isn't accustomed to forward women. Perhaps the Caribbean sun has tainted his mind but I fear it is rather the torment lurking within him.

We spoke at length and I questioned him, thoroughly. Cutler would have been proud. It is a foolish woman who trusts a strange man at first glance. Of course, the note he provided bore my husband's seal and boasted his own handwriting. But any scoundrel could have stolen the note and murdered the true Mr. Norrington.

But it seems like this man is genuine, or at least has his wits about him. He answered my every question with great confidence and only a man close to my husband would know of the affair with my wretched uncle.

After our discourse, I sent him back to town to find room at an inn. However trustworthy he seemed, his polite mannerisms did not induce foolishness on my part. I shall not have an unknown man under my roof for a night.

The rest of my day was spent in preparation for the journey. I sent word to Harriet and she soon arrived to aid me, though she remained silent and terse most of the time. My sister dreads the very thought of my leave-taking. But I am afraid she must adapt to the prospect or spend the rest of her time in tears. I did not mention Mr. Norrington's business with uncle though, that would send her straight into hysterics.

I gave most of the servants notice of their dismissal that Monday. I felt sorry for a few, men with large families and little fortune. Several I kept as Cutler requested to keep our house and four altogether I convinced to accompany me to the Caribbean.

It took a good deal of coercion to convince dear Agnes to journey with me. She worried after her mother in Yorkshire, but I promised her good pay. After a long while, she agreed, much to my satisfaction. I had her bustling about the rest of the day, arranging my belongings and packing them away.

The next morning I received word that Mr. Norrington had hired a post-chaise and made the journey to my uncle's home. He did not return until evening with somber features and blood speckling his sleeves. I took him out of the room at once for Harriet sat nearby. He informed me that the duel had only been fought on the grounds of an insult to his employer, my husband. However, he did little harm to uncle in the end. They only fought until first blood was drawn.

I doubt Cutler will be pleased with the news, but Mr. Norrington looked so earnest and weary that I shall try to intercede on his behalf. Harriet still does not know of the event. I hope she remains ignorant for the time being, until I am aboard the ship and nearing Port Royal.

The past three days have past in a harried blur. I have settled accounts and instructed the remaining servants of their duties. I have shifted through my belongings in search of items only dear to me and just last evening, I went down to the stables to bid farewell to the horses. Besides Harriet, I think I shall miss them the most.

The house has fallen silent now. Only every so often does the front door open and close. Young Cutler sleeps in peace and I watch virgin snowflakes sweep past the window panes. I suppose I do not wish to leave England. I would rather Cutler return home to me now that we may raise our son in his native land.

The Caribbean must be a cruel place filled with endless heat, wretched illness and of course, pirates. But my home is not my own without Cutler and I know he should follow me to the ends of the earth if I asked it of him.

Outside, the carriage has just rolled up the drive. I can scarce see the wheels through the blinding snow. Harriet is at my door, I can hear the tears in her voice. I must go.

Lady Anne Beckett


	2. Beckett: March 15, 1731

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter two of Rubicon! This chapter consists of Lord Beckett's first diary entry. I would like to say thanks to all those who read and reviewed the previous chapter, Rachel Sparrow, sudoku, ElfLuver13, and Astraeas Dreams. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

March 15, 1731

Log,

It has grown dark and I must now write by candlelight. Oh for a reprieve from this blasted heat. Even the dawn hours bring little coolness, only hot breezes that follow me from room to room and threaten my very sanity. I pray for rain and the afternoon brings storms, so violent and vicious I fear all the ships in the harbor might be blown away.

It is an irrational fear though. I have not lost a ship these seven months past. The sea may stir and howl, vent its very rage upon the shore but I am not concerned. In fact, I am rather pleased with the way things have turned out.

For it was seven months ago that a peculiar man, a reduced gentleman, presented me with so coveted a treasure, so great a boon. I've kept it locked away, stored in the bowels of some unknown room and under a heavy guard. Only the most wretched men may watch over it. They are like rats, frightened of the sun and any goodness. I have them under strict orders and they are not to question me, unless they wish to face a speedy death.

Fortunately, there has been no curiosity on their part.

As for my newly acquired ship, whose name I keep only in my mind, she continues to prowl the waves. I am proud of her but I should never set foot upon her deck. No, that would be most useless. I have no need to converse with the crew. I leave that duty to one James Norrington.

He is a strange sort of man, blighted by old pain and wounds of the heart. He came to me so desperate, so very willing to do what I asked. Norrington is the perfect sort of man to employ. He has nothing to lose, no family, no fortune. And he will do whatever is required of him.

As of now, I have sent him upon a most important errand. Norrington knows not to fail. Death would be the least of worries should his charges come to harm.

I sent him to England upon a swift little ship to fetch dear Anne and our son. He is good for such a task, easily humbled and compliant. Anne shall have no trouble with him. She is a firm woman and will have her way. I know she will interrogate him, drag every bit of information out of him if necessary. And he will comply. James Norrington knows to abide my wife just as he abides me.

I also commanded him to put to rest a matter which has troubled me for some time, that of Anne's uncle. I was patient with the man, exceedingly patient. I conducted myself as a gentleman, but he stooped to lowest form of defamation. What sort of man calls his own niece a whore? A foolish man, I wager.

I shall never forget the day I asked him for Anne's hand. Her father had died some years before and he was left as her guardian, along with her mother.

What a haughty man he was!

No, he said at once. And he glared at me as though I was a filthy street urchin begging for a coin.

When I inquired as to his reasoning, he crossed his arms and raised his head, acting like a king's son.

"You will lead her to misery," he declared. "I have heard the rumors. You are a cruel man, an evil man and Anne is an innocent. I should rather her wed a blacksmith than a lord such as you!"

If that is not proof of the man's idiocy, I do not know what is. Marry a blacksmith? Dear God!

In the end, he had little say. Anne chose her fate and how glad I am for it. She is my most cherished wife, my lovely wife. I should have it no other way.

Let her uncle rot in the fires of hell. Whoever seeks to sunder lovers is indeed worthy of Lucifer's realm.

My thoughts now turn to my son whom I have never met. According to Anne's letters he is a well-mannered child, a true nobleman. I shall admit I anticipated fatherhood as a distant thing, but not quite this distant. I find I miss him, my young son. It is a very strange thing to miss someone you do not know.

I should hope he is not akin to the brats I have come across, maddened little creatures who disobey every law known to man. That should be most insufferable. But Anne's kindliness has assuredly molded his character and I hope to add my own stern resolution to his manner.

I wonder what he looks like.

And what of Anne? I wonder if she has changed much. The tone of her letters suggests her usual spirit, strong, calm and of course mischievous. But it has been over a year and time wears on even the strongest person. The absence of her manner, her voice, her very touch has left a void in my life. It is selfish, I suppose, for one person to so depend on another. But I was never one for selfless acts.

I have asked her here to better her health but in truth, I sorely miss her. I want her to be with me, to be by my side when age old evils come crashing down into the waves and leave nothing but civility and glory.

Useless worries have plagued my mind. I have imagined Anne's ship running aground and imagined the terrors that dwell beneath the endless black. But the ship will come to port. I have assured myself of such. She will come to port.

But my assurances have not put a stop to my dreams. I find them strange and so utterly mystifying. Some would call them shameful. I dream that I am bewitched by a woman, a woman with braids in her hair and dark skin. She dances amongst the stars and the slick rocks that line the shore. And though I might pursue her, tirelessly, she will not be caught.

I am sure Anne would not be pleased with such. I shall not mention it to her. Never should I wish to cause her upset.

The moon is so bright now, I have just noticed. So bright and full and round.

There is a call below stairs. Mr. Mercer, I believe. He is calling me.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	3. Anne: March 16, 1731

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

**Author's Note: **It's finally here! Beckett and Anne reunite at last. This chapter also contains a brief excerpt from the weepy Irish song "Carrighfergus". If you get a chance, I would recommend listening to Loreena McKennitt's version of it, it so reminds me of poor Norrington. Anyway, I would like to thank Astraeas Dream, who took the time to read and review the last chapter. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this story are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

March 16, 1731

Dearest Diary,

The strangest dream has followed me these past five nights. It seems the closer we draw to Port Royal, the more persistent it becomes. I feel the need to recount every peculiar detail, if only to settle my mind.

I found myself standing on a beach. It was midday, the sun was high in sky and the waves were licking the shore. The sand was hot. A woman sat close by, a strange woman. She had knotted hair and brown skin that shone when the light washed over it. Her dress was made of rags.

"Come sit," she said. Her voice sounded foreign. She patted the sand and combed it with her long fingers.

I did not feel at all frightened. In fact I enjoyed the breezes and the warmth and the thundering sea. The woman's smile was kind and inviting. I did not fear her.

I sat in the yellow sand across from her and she took my hands in hers.

"Are you ready?" she asked and I nodded. Her eyes grew bright then. So bright and full and round.

The woman withdrew a small knife from the sand. Before I could say anything else she drove the blade into my throat. I could feel it stuck in my windpipe.

No pain did I feel. But I could not breathe. I could talk though.

"Where am I going?" I asked her. She held my hands as I fell back on the sand. The tide was coming in. "Where am I going?"

She did not answer me and the world began to fade. The waves washed over me.

I am not sure what I should think of such a dream. It is foolishness. But why does it haunt me so? Perhaps it has to do with Mr. Norrington pacing the decks at night and singing. Always the same song, always in the same sad voice. I know it by heart now.

_But the sea is wide and I can't get over_

_And neither have I wings to fly_

_Oh, if I could find me a handsome boatsman_

_To ferry me over to my love and die_

_I'm drunk today but I'm seldom sober_

_A handsome rover from town to town_

_Oh, but I am sick now, my days are over_

_Come all you young lads and lay me down_

I asked him one morning at breakfast why he sang so. He said he had learned the song a long time ago in a place he barely remembered. He looked so forlorn I did not question him further.

I wonder what would drive a man to such sorrow. Perhaps Cutler will be so good as to inform me when I arrive.

The journey has been easy, I suppose. Mr. Norrington says the waves are calm for this time of year. Agnes does not agree. She has been so wretchedly ill and more than once I've heard her say she wished she was back in England.

Mr. Norrington always takes care to escort her above deck whenever her illness strikes. But he always stands by my side, never speaking. He keeps his eyes on the ocean.

I, for one, am weary of the ship. It is a pretty little thing to look at…from shore. I never cared much for the sea.

The rest of the servants do not complain. When not in my presence, they keep to themselves in their cabins. I hear little from them.

Young Cutler is peaceful most of the time, though he cried loud and long one night when it rained. We had just come from dinner and Mr. Norrington was escorting me back to my cabin.

When he heard the babe crying his eyes went soft.

"What ails him?" he asked as Agnes met me at the door with my son in her arms.

"He is fearful of the rain, perhaps," I said and I took Cutler into my arms and rocked him until he was quiet. For the first time I saw Mr. Norrington smile.

The other gentlemen on the ship rarely speak with me. They are frightened, I suppose. Cutler must have threatened them all so fiercely. I am sorry for them. They are small men, with small weather beaten bodies and nervous hands. They cling to the ropes and the rails and sometimes I think the wind itself might blow them away.

I do wish someone would speak with me though. No longer do I have Harriet to keep me company and I miss her now.

I tried to speak to Mr. Norrington once. We were standing on the deck and the sun was bleeding into the sea, creeping towards the horizon. Agnes was ill again. The ocean was quiet and still. I almost wished for the roar of the waves or the sudden clap of thunder. Such stillness is most unnerving.

Curiosity taunted me as I stood there and I glanced at Mr. Norrington. He was watching the sea, as usual.

"What is the nature of your association with my husband?" I asked. The silence that followed was even more terrible than before. Mr. Norrington went inside himself again, hunched his shoulders and looked away.

"I was a naval officer some time ago," he said at last. "A very long time ago, in fact. Lord Beckett had use for my services."

And that was all he said. I wanted to shake him then. I wanted to force an answer out of him. Instead I retired to my cabin and watched young Cutler dozing in his cradle.

Such was the progression of my journey. Still waves, silence and many unanswered questions. And then five days ago the dreams began. I have taken to pacing up and down my cabin and I imagine my husband doing the same in his chamber.

Dear God, it has been so long. Often in my mind I repeat the last words he said to me on the day of his departure. I do not wish to forget his voice.

"Farewell, my fairest," was all he said as the coach pulled away. But I remember the sorrow in his voice and the cold indifference he struggled to mask his emotions with.

Should he be the same way during our reunion? Dear God, it has been so long.

Last night when I awoke from my dreams I did not hear Mr. Norrington singing. Instead there was a knock on my door and Agnes soon came bearing news.

We would be in Port Royal by morning.

I have not slept since. I went above deck just before dawn and smiled along with sun. The men were chattering and Mr. Norrington stood by his post. He said nothing.

After a while I retired below and changed from my plain frock into a red silk gown. Agnes helped me dress and arranged my hair. And now I sit alone, my hands are shaking so.

Above deck I hear voices, scattered cheers. The men are celebrating. Someone is calling out.

"Land ho!"

I must go.

Lady Anne Beckett.

Later

Dearest Diary,

I am seated in a most grand chamber now but I have not the time to describe the particulars of it. All I can say is that it is a grand chamber in a grand house nestled atop a great green hill.

Oh for the joys of this day! Shortly after I heard the men cry out on deck I went above and saw a sliver of land. The sliver soon grew into an island with a fine harbor that housed dozens of ships. My husband's ships, I might add. The flag of the East India Trading Company waved in greeting, situated atop a fort that faced the ocean.

I can scarce remember the details of my arrival. The ship came into the harbor and a great crowd of people stood there, curious. Mr. Norrington stood with me on deck and folded his hands behind him.

"Welcome to Port Royal, my lady," he said. I could not see much of the place at first, just the harbor and several houses in the distance. I was too busy searching for him.

Agnes stood behind me with young Cutler in a basket in her arms, the other servants in her wake. I paid them little mind. The sailors worked quickly, lowering the gangplank onto the dock. Orders were shouted and there seemed to be a good deal of commotion. Only Mr. Norrington remained quiet.

"May we go now?" I asked him after several of the sailors had disembarked.

"Of course, my lady." He offered me his arm and begged me to tread carefully. The wooden plank wobbled a bit beneath our feet.

I was halfway to the shore when I heard horses approaching the harbor. A great coach, such as the one we had in England, hurried down the street. Two fine horses with plumes upon their heads pulled the vehicle. The crowd suddenly thinned.

My heart thundered in my breast and I found I could not breathe. Poor Mr. Norrington, I clutched his hand so tight.

The coach halted just off the docks and a footman jumped down and hurried to the door. I was almost to the shore then and my pace quickened. Mr. Norrington had to lengthen his strides to keep up with me.

The door to the coach opened and I swallowed my tears as Cutler stepped out.

My dear husband, oh my dear husband! He looked just the same, though his eyes went wide the moment he saw me.

And then he was hurrying to the docks and Mr. Norrington disappeared from my side. I could not move, forced to watch as Cutler drew near. It seemed to take him so long.

At last he stood a mere foot from me. I wanted to reach out and touch him.

Cutler doffed his hat and bowed. "Lady Beckett."

I managed to curtsy. "Lord Beckett."

His fingers slipped between mine and he leaned close and whispered so only I could hear, "Anne, my fairest."

"Cutler," I replied. "My friendliest."

He led me to the coach then and helped me inside. Once the door was shut I began to weep. And just as we had years ago in that darkened labyrinth, Cutler let embraced me and held me close and I wept upon his shoulder. He raised his hand and stroked my forehead and I kissed his fingertips.

Soon we arrived at the grand house and Cutler brought me inside and sat me in a grand parlor. And just as I had previously instructed Agnes, our son was brought to us and placed in my husband's arms.

I don't think I shall ever forget the expression on his face. He pulled back the blanket and stared at the child, and in his eyes I saw both love and a certain satisfaction. He was so pleased.

"My son?" he asked and raised his eyes to me.

"Yes," I replied. My husband smiled and held the child in his arms.

We dined together afterwards and spoke for so long a time. I had not forgotten his voice after all. Now I have little time to detail every event. Cutler is coming up the stairs to our bed chamber.

Lady Anne Beckett


	4. Beckett: March 16, 1731

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter four of "Rubicon"! I would like to thank everyone who read and left feedback for the last chapter, **NazgulQueen**, **Sudoku**, and **Astraeas Dreams.** Thank you all so much! Your comments always make my day. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical mistakes that occur in this story are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

**Warning: **Mild sexual situations appear in this chapter.

March 16, 1731

Log,

It is either very early in the morning or very late at night. I cannot tell. The curtains are drawn and only a small fire lights the room. I can barely see the parchment before me but I will ask for no more light. I should not wish to wake Anne.

She sleeps and I am glad for it, even though I miss our happy conversation. We used to talk late into the night back in England. But no longer. I have tried to assure myself that the crossing has taken its toll. She is weary, exhausted from excitement and anxiety. But I cannot lie to myself.

Even now I hear her stir upon our bed. She coughs often, too often. I am terrified for her. When I first removed her chemise this night, I saw the deadly pallor of her skin, her ribs sticking out just below her breasts. A woman should not be this thin just after bearing a child. She is wasted away and when I took her upon my lap, she seemed made of nothing. Her cheekbones press against her skin and make her eyes appear sunken. I do not trust the brightness in her eyes, that certain fervor. It is not passion, I am convinced, but fever.

And when I kissed her shoulders I felt the bones churn beneath her flesh. Her lungs contracted for air. And then she slept, deep and sound. My sweet murmurs of love could not rouse her.

Dear God, she has consumption. Oh dear God, I am ill. This cannot be, this cannot….

I have collected myself now, chased away my scattered thoughts and regained the certainty of composure. If she does not appear well in several days time I shall send for the doctor. But what doctor can be found in Caribbean? I trust not a soul here. I will not let an uneducated wretch touch my wife. But who might be sent for?

I feel trapped almost, exiled. Away from England, away from normalcy. A man cannot even help his wife here.

But perhaps the warm breezes will do her well. Surely, she should have suffered from the cold in England. A healthy diet and moderate exercise will bring the color back to her cheeks. For now I suppose I must wait and watch and listen. Her shattering coughs echo in the dark. What am I to do?

I shall speak with Agnes Dean in the morning. She seems sensible in a way and was with Anne when she first fell ill. Mr. Norrington might also have some knowledge of her condition. He is a perceptive man, perhaps too perceptive for his own good. I am sure he must have noticed Anne's illness. Perhaps he can inform me of its course.

I should not condemn myself melancholy. It is a useless pursuit. Instead I should let my happiness guide me, despite the desperation that seems to bode over my home.

Today was a most joyous day. The lost pieces of my life were once more put back into place and at once I regained my family. It is strange to think of my family for I have never particular considered myself a family man. Of course, I had my mother and father in England, cousins, aunts and uncles. But now _I _have a family.

I feel put upon, I suppose. It is a tremendous responsibility, a careful task that must be handled with the utmost delicacy. My son is, after all, my legacy. He looks like me in form and figure, except his eyes. No, they are Anne's eyes that stare back at me so boldly, that watch me with curiosity.

I wonder, does he love me yet? A child should love his parent and a parent should love his child.

I love him, dearly. I am undone by his innocence.

But there is much to be done. As soon as he is old enough he shall have a governess and a proper tutor. He cannot spend the entirety of his childhood meddling with the servants. No, I shan't allow that.

Anne is tender with him, motherly and so very proud. After dinner she rocked him in her arms until he slept. She smiles whenever she sees him and tells me he shall be a gallant lord. I am afraid I must agree.

The day has otherwise past by in cheerful blur. I fear I cannot distinguish one moment from the next. I remember vaguely Anne's chatter as I showed her about the manor, her delight at the gardens, the kisses she pressed against my lips.

I feel harried and cannot sleep. Contentment keeps me awake.

But sleep I must. Tomorrow will come and bring with it much important business. I must speak with Norrington and, Lord help me, Governor Swann. I hope the man keeps his whining to a minimum. I have already sent for several merchants to visit with Anne. She will purchase furnishings and fabrics for the house and herself.

I spoil her so terribly.

And then in five days time I have arranged for a party to be had. The gentry of Port Royal and most of Jamaica will attend. I expect there to be a proper welcome for my wife and our son.

But it is late now and sleep I must. Anne stirs once more and calls my name….

Lord Cutler Beckett

* * *

March 17, 1731

Later that Morning

Log,

I have a moment now, a brief moment to transcribe all that took place this morning. And I think I should. Perhaps it might help me to track my wife's illness. Yes, it is an illness. I admit it now. There is no avoiding it.

Anne is ill.

I rose early and Anne slept. She clutched the blankets about her and at once I thought she looked so delicate, so very weak. I almost wished for her to open her eyes, to smile and whisper something mischievous in my ear just to make me chuckle. But she did not. I let her rest.

My first meeting was with Mr. Mercer. He had much to discuss about my newly acquired ship but I put him off. Instead, I sent him to fetch Norrington.

Mr. Norrington currently resides at an inn as he has just returned to Port Royal and to society, as it is. If he has proved his worth on this little sojourn, I will see to it that he has proper lodgings.

As it happened, I was pressed for time and could only inquire as to Anne's health. He told me, quite frankly, that he had noticed her cough and weakness, but attributed it to the climate upon the seas.

I was comforted, if only for a short while.

Afterwards, Anne came down and we breakfasted off the garden. She loves it here, or so she says and often she closes her eyes and breaths deep. The flowers please her so.

We talked of many things and she questioned my work in the Caribbean. She asked specifically about the peril I described in my letters. I did not elaborate, spoke only of piracy. She asked of Jack Sparrow and Turner and Swann. I told her that they were still aboard, but I would have at them shortly. And then she asked about Mr. Norrington and I told her everything.

She seemed to find it most intriguing that he was a disgraced navy man (not for long) and that he had once loved Miss Swann. But I did not tell her of his wondrous gift.

"Oh," she said when I had finished and sipped her tea. "How dreadful, poor man. It was good of you to help him so, Cutler."

Anne then told me of England and all that I had missed. Fox hunts and dances and outings in the countryside. She told me of Marcus and his mare and their new foal. And at last she told me of her uncle.

It was then that I remembered Mr. Norrington's _other _business in England. I sent for him at once and he stood before us, his hat in his hands.

I was frank and forward. I asked him at once if he had gotten rid of the old man. He hesitated and looked away. I thought I saw a dull flush seep onto his countenance.

And then Anne, my lovely little Anne, spoke up.

"Oh Cutler, you mustn't be mad. It was my fault. All my fault." Her grey eyes were serious.

"What is that, my fairest?" I asked. Mr. Norrington looked thoroughly confused…and frightened.

"I asked Mr. Norrington to spare uncle's life, for Harriet's sake. They only fought until first blood was drawn," she said. "Please don't be mad, Cutler. I had to do it, you see. Harriet is the only family I have left and if uncle were killed, I daresay she would blame it on you and perhaps me. I could not stand it if we were parted so cruelly. Certainly, you understand."

I looked from Norrington, to her, then back to Norrington. He stood there, stoic, unflinching. Anne stared at me and placed a hand on my wrist.

"Please, Cutler."

"Of course, darling."

She smiled and Norrington seemed a bit relieved. I dismissed him and continued on with breakfast.

Anne was delighted to here of the ball I had planned. She was especially pleased to hear that it was a masquerade.

After breakfast we parted company for a short while. She went to consult with several merchants and I went to speak with the maid, Agnes.

The said maid was rather nervous in my presence. I was brief and concise, as I did not wish to tarry long on the subject. I asked her at once to tell me of Anne's illness.

She spoke with a thick Yorkshire accent and I had to listen carefully. But she too was brief and concise, terribly so.

"The doctor said it was a fever, your lordship. But it wasn't a fever, lordship. Me own young sister had a brush with consumption as a child and I can see it in her ladyship. She has consumption."

I tried to contain my emotions at once.

"Very well," I said and I sent her away. Dear God, what am I to do?

Lord Cutler Beckett.


	5. Anne: March 17, 1731

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

**Author's Note:** Welcome to chapter five of "Rubicon"! I'd like to thank everyone who read and left feedback for the last chapter, **merry**,** ElfLuver13**, **sudoku**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. You're kind comments were greatly appreciated. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical errors that occur are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

March 17, 1731

Dearest Diary,

I am much more rested now that I have slept. And only such rest could be found in the arms of one so dearly loved and dearly missed. No longer am I weary or miserable or distraught. Content. Yes, that is word. I am content and so very pleased. It seems that separation, that nearly two years apart has not caused our love to suffer. And I am most happy for it.

We breakfasted together and Cutler told me a great many things. His time in the Caribbean has not been without incident. That meddlesome pirate, that Jack Sparrow has caused him much grief. Cutler told me the man is rumored to be dead and I am glad for it. I'll not have a worthless wretch disturb our happiness. Let the devil have at him, I say.

I have not seen much of Port Royal, but already I find it pleasant. The little I saw of the garden amazed me. Only in books and paintings had I viewed such exotic plants. The air here is sweeter too, fragrant, like the perfume worn by fashionable ladies. Cutler says the weather can be most harsh at times and I should learn to ignore the heat. I think it should be a nice change though. England, while lovely, was damp and chilled at all times. I should like to see the sun now.

As to the house in which we reside, it is most splendid. In the foyer there is a grand staircase and a bright chandelier that welcomes each visitor. The adjoining room is a sort of parlor, but the furniture is dark and so are the curtains. I don't care for the style of the carpet at all and Cutler told me he meant to replace it. A parlor should be cheery, in my mind, warm and well-appointed. The previous owner of this house must have lacked some taste.

The nursery, however, is most beautiful. The walls are a light blue and there is a balcony that overlooks all of Port Royal. Adjustments must be made, yes. I should like the old four poster bed removed and stored away. But in end, I find it most fitting for our young son.

I had much to attend to, as it was. After breakfast a letter arrived from a local woman. Cutler told me she was the wife of some naval officer, charming but a bit foolish. She had invited me to tea the next day.

I was not tempted by her offer and Cutler said I should turn it down anyway. The wife of a lord should not be entertained by someone she is not acquainted with, especially a person of the lower classes.

I replied with a hastily scrawled note, giving her a meaningless excuse.

I then took up a seat in the so-called parlor to await the arrival of several merchants. The first was the seamstress of course. Apparently, the women of Port Royal hold her in high esteem. They say she knows the most of London's fashions. But I know better.

The designs she presented me with were nearly a year old and I was very put out. I spent much of the hour detailing the changes in dress. She altered her designs, made the skirt fuller, added a good deal of lace around the collar and continuously told me that she was honored to serve Lord Beckett's wife.

I finally dismissed her and then followed the carpenter, the silversmith and the milliner. The latter occupied the most of my time.

Afterwards I retired to the gardens and strolled about for a good while. Cutler was in town, meeting with Mr. Mercer and Mr. Norrington.

I like Mr. Norrington a good deal better than Mr. Mercer. Though he was always polite to me, I found Mercer to be harsh. Cutler is in constant need of his assistance though. His work with the East India Trading Company can be most dangerous, evident by Jack Sparrow's escapades. He must have a harsh man, I suppose, someone who might intimidate any pirate.

Though Cutler is quite intimidating enough. And I am so proud of him for it. Cautious and meek men achieve nothing. The same, I believe, holds true for women. Lucretia, while noble, could not resist Tarquinius. Women ought to be strong and cunning, if only for their own protection.

I enjoyed my time spent in the gardens and took young Cutler along with me. He fussed some, but I was able to soothe him by pointing to all the pretty birds that sang. They enchanted him, I think. He fell silent and watched them flutter back in forth in an array of colors.

During the afternoon I had much time to think. And think I did. There was a certain incident at breakfast that concerned me.

As it was, Mr. Norrington joined us briefly and Cutler questioned him regarding his duel with uncle. Poor Mr. Norrington. I do pity him, truly. He seems to terribly lost and alone. Cutler even told me that he was for a time engaged to that wretched Miss Swann. I fear the man is suffering in some way. But that is not why I saved him. No, not at all.

I knew Mr. Norrington had not completed his task. He had only wounded uncle, left him alive and breathing. There must be some gentleness left in him, I think. I can see it in his eyes sometimes, a brief flash, a distant glimmer. He is like a crushed rose. Petals bruised and torn, but still beautiful.

I knew Cutler would be most upset with him, terribly upset. And so I lied. I told my husband that Mr. Norrington spared uncle's life only to please me. I am not sure if Cutler believed me, but he accepted my explanation and sent Mr. Norrington away.

At once I felt so overcome with guilt. I should never lie to my husband, I love him so. I cannot even begin to recall all that he has done for me, the affection he has bestowed upon me, the tender fidelity.

But as I thought it over, I realized I had only lied to protect Cutler. It was for his own good.

Mr. Norrington is a worthy man and he is quite valuable to Cutler. He seems to know much of the Caribbean and he is loyal. If he had told my husband the truth, I know Cutler would have been quite angry and punished him. That would have been irrational, I think. He needs Mr. Norrington and it would have been a great shame to lose his service just now.

I saved my husband from his irrationality, from the harm his rage would have brought. I am not like Lucretia after all.

Cutler has just come home. He is moving through the house, calling my name. He knows to find me in the garden.

Lady Anne Beckett.


	6. Beckett: March 21, 1731

**Author's Note: **Welcome to chapter six of "Rubicon". Thanks goes out to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **sudoku**, **Mystress of the Dark**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **Astraeas Dreams**, **threeheadedmonkey **and **sweetblonde14.** Thank you all so much! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that occur are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

March 21, 1731

Log,

Anne is content and so I am. In her happiness I find my own. In her peace I find my rest. And in her health I find my joy.

But is she truly well?

The question has plagued me and alone, in my office during the too bright afternoons, I have meditated on it. She looks cheerful, yes, and seems to be just as active as she was when I left her in England. But I do not trust the pallor in her cheeks, nor her cough.

I would seek counsel or send for a good doctor but I know of not one. Port Royal strives to be an English haven but falls short. I find the place rustic and dull and lacking the most basic amenities of civilized life. I am not sure I would trust a Caribbean doctor, even if he was trained elsewhere. I trust very few men in this place.

But I must think only of pleasant things now. I have a free moment and there is a nice breeze stirring the waters and caressing the sun. Twilight inches over the sky and I can see but a narrow moon, thin and white, like an old scar.

Anne is certainly in the gardens. I can just see them from my window, a great green lawn extending from the back of the house, followed by a rose garden. Anne wants a new birdbath to place in the center of the rose garden. She says the birds fly by but they never stop. I, of course, have obliged her. She has placed an order with a well-known sculptor in Italy though I am sure we shan't see it until the new year. But she is pleased, so I must be.

I am allowed to breathe a sigh of relief. And I am relieved, truly.

For yesterday I received news at last of Jack Sparrow.

Mr. Mercer and Mr. Norrington were both in my office and they seemed very pleased with themselves. For the past two months there have been scattered reports from sailors and merchants. Many have said the _Black Pearl _sank. And a few said that Jack Sparrow was dead.

I bided my time at first and listened. The talk grew and I listened intently. Could I dare to hope for such a gracious boon?

I said nothing at first. And then Mr. Mercer at last came to me with an unusual smile upon his face. He told me that the rumors had been confirmed, Jack Sparrow was dead.

It was a strange thing, I must admit. I expected happiness on my part, or at least satisfaction. Years of wanting revenge have fueled my hate but now I feel almost lost.

It is said that Julius Caesar wept over the body of his rival, Pompey. Would I weep over Jack Sparrow?

I think not. I am glad he is dead. I am glad he is no longer of this world, but stews in the flames of Hell.

Perhaps now the seas will be safer, for a time. Perhaps trade can continue on unhindered and free from molestation. And perhaps pirates will think twice before setting out upon their ships.

My name ought to be known along the waves, it ought to be whispered in filthy taverns accompanied by frightened glances. I ought to be feared.

I am afraid, however, that not all the news was good.

Mr. Norrington entered my office as well. And though he was solemn and stoic, I think he may have been pleased in his own way. That troubles me.

He reported a sighting of William Turner and Elizabeth Swann. They were on a ship, passing from Caribbean waters. Dear God, where could they be headed?

The last Mr. Norrington reported, they were on the _Black Pearl. _Could they have possibly escaped when it sank?

William Tuner fancies himself gallant and bold. He does not trouble me. The lad is smart, but not cunning. There is quite a difference betwixt the two.

But Elizabeth Swann. Ah Miss Swann, was it so long ago that you barged into my office in your soiled wedding gown, demanding my signature and humiliation?

She is bold. But boldness in a woman does not surprise me. My Anne is bold enough and I know she could match Miss Swann's bravery with ease. But that dratted Swann is manipulative. She possesses all the damned qualities of a pirate, unreliable, dishonest and cruel. She would lie with a straight face to save herself from peril.

How very unlike my dear wife.

I have reason then to worry over Miss Swann. Therefore, I will continue to listen and to watch and when the moment is right, if she should show herself again, I will strike out at her.

It is a shame almost, that a woman of breeding should go astray and leave behind her life. Ah well, she is a pirate now.

I must admit, despite my contentment, I am a bit weary. I am almost reluctant to admit to the dreams that have followed me these past few nights. Even during the hours of the day, I find my mind ensnared by sordid images.

I dare not tell Anne, for I do not wish to alarm her. No, she is calm now. I should never wish to disrupt her peace. Perhaps I should keep my dreams to myself, as I have with most things these days. Every apprehension, every worry. It is exhausting, yes, but I would spare at least my wife from my fears.

But I feel I must say something, or write something rather. It might be best to sketch out what exactly took place, if only to show myself that it is but a dream and dreams are of no consequence.

Well, it happened thusly.

The dark-skinned woman continued to race along the beach, drawing me onward. My senses told me to stop. I was being foolish. Why chase after her? She looked like a wild woman, with wild eyes and hair and a keen smile. But my legs churned, my feet moved forward and I followed her.

It seemed I ran for a long while. And the moon was overhead and in the ocean. Sand became rocks beneath my feet and at last I found the woman, kneeling by a small pool. She had her thin hands cupped and at once she dipped them into the water.

All the while she said nothing to me, but raised a handful of water before her eyes and smiled.

It was then that terror gripped me and I could not look away. The water throbbed in her hands, slow, soft, beating. Beating like a heart.

And then I felt myself falling back, unable to catch myself.

Every night I awake from such a fright. The bed jolts beneath me and I grasp at the blankets, if only to assure myself that I am indeed safe. Anne sleeps on beside me, undisturbed and dancing in sweet dreams of her own.

No, I shall not tell her.

The afternoon fades now and I look out the window once more. Anne has wandered onto the great lawn with young Cutler in her arms. She sits upon the grass and places him beside her.

My son pushes himself to his feet, so very slowly. For a moment he stands and wobbles and then he falls backwards once more. Anne laughs and gathers him back into her arms. She is so terribly happy. What I wouldn't do to insure her eternal joy.

Perhaps I will got down and meet them.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	7. Anne: March 23, 1731

**Author's Note:** Hello and welcome to chapter seven of "Rubicon". I'd like to say thanks to everyone who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter, **Tiera-Tarie**, **sudoku**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. Your comments are wonderful, thank you all so much! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical errors that occur are my fault and my alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own POTC or its characters.

March 23, 1731

Dearest Diary,

I am thoroughly exhausted. The dim light of morn shifts the clouds that tumble about the horizon and I watch the night ease into day from my bedchamber.

And what a night it has been.

I am giddy with wine still and weary from pleasant chatter and dance. For last night Cutler and I hosted a ball, our very first, in Port Royal.

It was a grand masquerade, the likes of which I am sure the Caribbean has yet to see. English elegance does not extend to Jamaica's gentry, but I tried to maintain the good taste which I hold so dear.

Flowers festooned every room, bright and cheery. I ordered grand arrangements of fruits piled high atop silver platters. Pastries and sweet meats were brought forth along with fine wine and Madeira Cutler ordered just for the occasion.

In the ballroom, three dozen mirrors graced the walls, reflecting the light from the chandelier and every movement of the dancers. We had a lovely group of musicians as well and they played all through the night. Still, the sounds of the harpsichord and violin merrily chime together in my mind. The gardens were open and guests traversed betwixt the hedges whilst candle-bearing servants stood hidden in alcoves, letting light shine upon the gravel paths.

I do not know how, but Cutler managed to gather a vast array of paintings to grace each room. So ivory-limbed Roman revelers pranced across each panel. Bacchus ruled over the dining room, seated amidst his fair maids. And majestic Augustus himself rode forth upon a chariot in the parlor. Garlands of snowy flowers twisted about columns.

To end it all, the guests were entertained by a fireworks display. Brilliant flashes of gold split the heavens over the wharves and illuminated all of Port Royal.

I daresay we have made our mark in the Caribbean.

Besides the richness of decoration, we made sure to garb our persons in only the finest fabric. Cutler dressed as a wild stallion, I as a fox. But I believe this is the first time the fox has ever caught the horse.

My husband wore a black frock jacket, the coattails of which were long to mock a horse's elongated back. His mask was narrow and extended forth from his brow to resemble the creature's face. He looked most handsome, I thought. And for a laugh he carried a horsehair riding whip. No other gentleman appeared so dashing, or imposing.

I wore a tawny gown with a good deal of lace about the collar and cuffs. The skirt was wide, a hoop adding to my hips. None of the other ladies were quite so aware of the current fashion, their dresses plain and dowdy looking. I believe I inspired much envy.

My mask was small and covered only the upper portion of my face. The eyes, however, were but thin slits and I found myself squinting throughout the evening. Cutler teased and said he wished he could chase something so fair across the moors. I told him to mind his tongue or he should never chase a creature again.

The ball commenced just before nightfall. One by one the guests arrived, driving up in small coaches with skinny looking horses. How distasteful.

They congregated in the parlor and drank punch. I heard one silly girl exclaim to all her friends.

"Why, isn't this grand! I wonder if England is as lovely."

Cutler told me that the foolish wretch had never set foot in England. What a shame.

We descended the staircase together and let the guests exclaim over our appearance. Cutler was so proud to introduce me, his wife, the accomplished Lady Beckett. And I found myself smiling as bewigged gentlemen bowed to me and ladies curtsied.

Many were introduced to me. I can barely remember each name and face now, but I shall try.

There were a great many navy officers. Lieutenants Theodore Groves and Andrew Gillette were most kind. There was also a Captain Radcliffe with his wife, Mary. And one Captain Southerly who came alone.

My greatest surprise of the evening came when Cutler introduced Mr. Norrington (who attended as well) as Admiral Norrington. When I inquired as to why, Cutler just patted my arm and promised me an explanation in the morning.

Next came Mr. and Mrs. Kearney. They are Irish people and still spoke with crude accents. I did not care for them much and Mrs. Kearney had a sour face. I do not think she held me in high regard.

Later in the evening, I heard her denounce our decorations as ostentatious.

Mr. Curtain, a wealthy bachelor was next introduced. He was a friendly sort of man, but not at all pleasant looking. And I thought he laughed too loud. Cutler seemed to agree.

There were many others, of course. A good number of officials and associates of my husband. But I am afraid I find most of the local gentry to be common. Too common, I might add. And I certainly do not intend to socialize with them.

But fortunately, just as my disappointment grew, I was introduced to a Lady Jane Nesbitt and her husband, Sir Nesbitt.

Sir Nesbitt is a goodly man and he owns a rich plantation not too far away. Lady Jane is just come from London herself a year ago and I found her most delightful to talk to. She is several years my senior and even confessed that she thought I should be older as well.

I think she is a sensible woman and of good-standing and breeding. We spent most of the evening in each other's company.

After our time in the parlor, we led the company upstairs and opened the dance. Perhaps the greatest thrill of the evening was once more falling into step with my dear husband. We both recalled the finer points of the minuet perfectly. It was so lovely, so comforting to join each other and dance. I am reminded of the two years we spent in courtship, the hours we so carelessly wiled away. Each footstep, each lavish gestured echoed with memories and fondness. And despite the crowd around us, I could look only at Cutler and him at me.

So long we were parted. I swear never to leave his side again.

We enjoyed a sumptuous dinner then. Unfortunately, Cutler was called away to attend to some matter and had to quit the table in a rush. He seemed most annoyed and I did not speak with him again until later in the evening.

After his departure, I at first felt put upon. How should I carry on my duties as hostess? But I soon recovered and the party proceeded without incident. The guests laughed and chatted. Polite inquires were made. The subject of my crossing from England came up often and most of the ladies shuddered at the thought.

"I could hardly stand such a perilous journey!" Mrs. Smythe, an old matron cried.

I smiled and told her that I was quite fortunate. My crossing was made most comfortable. I meant to turn to Mr. Norrington then and commend him for his kind care aboard ship. But Mr. Norrington had left the table as well. Perhaps he had gone to join my husband?

Dinner concluded and most of party returned to the ballroom for more dancing. Some gentlemen remained by the table and dedicated themselves to cards and drink. Other couples strolled through the gardens.

I shared a dance with Lieutenant Gillette and then Lieutenant Groves. They both chatted with me for a short while and I was impressed by their heightened manners and kindness. Captain Southerly then asked for a dance and I obliged him. He was quiet man but I enjoyed his company none the less.

Then Mr. Curtain, that rakish bachelor requested that I take his arm and join him in the minuet. He was not half as polite as the others and I knew his flattering words would never have been uttered in the presence of my dear husband.

Fortunately, Lady Jane rescued me and we retired to the parlor with some of the other ladies to converse.

A good while later, when the clock was creeping past midnight and Cutler still hadn't returned, I briefly left the company. I wished to go upstairs and see to my son. Agnes had put him to bed but I wanted to observe his peaceful sleep for myself. So gathering my skirts, I hurried up the stairs.

The corridor was dark and only my feet pattered along the floorboards. Yet after I had taken a few steps forward, a figure seemed to lash out at me from the shadows.

I gasped and leapt backwards. I could not draw breath.

"Oh, Lady Beckett!" Mr. Norrington moved closer, his hands clasped behind him. His face was so white, so terribly white. "Forgive me, my lady. I did not see you standing there."

"Never mind, sir," I said. But several minutes past before I had could breathe properly again. "I did not expect to see you here."

"Oh, forgive me." That was all he said. I stared at him. His eyes were red and he looked to have been crying.

"Mr. Norrington, are you well?" I asked at once.

"Of course, my lady." But his voice seemed to break. I rushed forward and placed my arm on his wrist, improper yes, but I pitied him. His smart blue coat was soft beneath my fingertips.

"Tell me what is amiss."

He stayed silent for a long moment and tried to withdraw further into the shadows, but I would not let him.

"Mr. Norrington?"

"These dark hours." He waved his hand. "They remind me of dark times."

I could tell he wished to leave, so I let go of his arm. He stepped back and offered me a bow.

"My lady." And then he hurried towards the stairs. I watched him go, so upright, so fine, so sorrowful.

"Mr. Norrington!" I called after him. He paused and turned. "Do not be so sad," I said. His eyes widened and I thought I saw tears gather within them once more. And then without another word, Mr. Norrington rushed down the stairs.

I almost thought to follow him. But another noise distracted me. Someone moved about down the corridor. Agnes, I thought at once. She must have decided to look in on young Cutler as well.

I gathered up my skirts again and hurried down the hall.

"It is just me, Agnes," I said as a warning. I did not want her to be so frightened as I was.

"Who?" A male voice answered me back.

I stopped.

"Who are you?" I demanded and squinted. I could just make out a tall figure. "What are you doing here?"

The man shifted and I thought I heard him sigh.

"This used to be my daughter's bedchamber," he said. His voice was a soft whisper, mournful.

"No more," I said forcefully. "Who are you?" And I stamped my foot upon the floor. The man sighed again and drew near. He was an older gentleman, with fine clothes and a drawn face.

"I know who you are," he said.

I felt a bit frightened then because he seemed to almost accuse me.

"You have not answered my question," I said. "Speak or I shall shout for assistance."

"I have seen your face," the man said. "Your husband carried your miniature about. You are the woman Lord Beckett married."

I said nothing.

"This used to be my daughter's room," he continued and pointed to the nursery door. "She was just about your age. Her name was…is Elizabeth."

And here the man began to cry. Pitiful, long sobs that shook one's very soul. I did not know what to do.

"Do you know what your husband did to her? Do you know?"

"Governor Swann!" Cutler's voice rang out from behind me. We both jumped.

"Governor Swann?" I asked as my husband slipped his arm beneath mine. I looked back at the disgraced man. So he was the father of Elizabeth Swann, that rotten wench!

"I told you to quit my property," Cutler ordered and he glared at the Governor.

"This is my home," Swann replied. Outrage crept into his voice.

"Was your home," Cutler corrected. "Leave. Now."

The man obeyed this time and he slid past us. I heard his footsteps thunder down the stairs.

"Governor Swann?" I turned to Cutler once more. But he smiled and again patted me on the arm.

"Later, my fairest," he said.

We returned to the party then and quite enjoyed ourselves. Mr. Norrington was nowhere to be seen though and I regretted his absence. The dance concluded and we wished our guests farewell. And so ended a lovely evening, if not a peculiar one.

Now, I can hardly hold my head upright. I fear I must retire now. There will be time for questions later. Cutler calls me to bed.

Lady Anne Beckett.


	8. Beckett: March 24, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eight of "Rubicon". I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read and leave feedback for the last chapter, **DemonicSymphony**, **Kitty**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **sudoku**, **ElfLuver13**, **Astraeas Dreams**, **NazgulQueen **and **Love Your Shotgun**. Thank you all so very much! Your comments mean the world to me. As always, I do not have a beta, so any grammatical or spelling errors that occur in this fic are mine and mine alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

March 24, 1731

Log,

I have finally had enough rest to think and write coherently, though I fear my tremendous intake of spirits the night before may have forever damaged my mind.

And oh how my head still pounds. I am jealous of Anne. A woman she is and yet she drinks with ease. After a few hours of sleep, she was up and about, fluttering around the house and scolding the servants. I, however, was confined to bed for most of the afternoon. I shall conduct no business today.

But that matters little. I had an abundance of trouble with Swann and Norrington last night. Let them worry and be vexed for a good time. Perhaps then they will rethink their loyalties.

As most of the guests seemed to agree, we had a grand entertainment last night. A masquerade ball, as I promised Anne, of such opulent proportions as to make the Jamaica gentry quite envious.

I dare not go into useless detail now. We had dinner and dancing, fireworks and a candle-lit garden. Anne looked most radiant in her costume, that of a fox. And had I not been so weary last night, I would have seen her look quite radiant without it.

Most of the guests were polite and rightfully awed. Only a few mumbled and groaned. Anne had good enough taste to ignore them. She said they were all very common, but she managed to find suitable company in the person of Lady Jane Nesbitt.

The two seemed to enjoy the civilized talk of nobility and good-breeding. Perhaps Lady Nesbitt will prove a worthy friend for my wife. I do not wish Anne to be condemned to loneliness and boredom in Port Royal.

Thankfully, Lord Nesbitt is a good man and has cooperated magnificently with the East India Trading Company. If that is not a mark of nobility, I do not know what is.

I digress. My mind wanders so freely. To continue on about Weatherby Swann and James Norrington.

Norrington has long proved himself a good ally. The man is so terribly submissive. But I am not a shrewd man. I always reward initiative and devotion.

Mr. Norrington, while employed as a privateer, yearned for something more. I knew he missed his Navy days, the pomp and routine of martial life. After all, he is quite the military man, if not a bit disgraced.

And so, I saw fit to award him a commission. To return him to the rank of commodore would only remind him of his past failures. I do not want the man to dwell in the past, to ruminate on his downfall and other unsavory things.

I made him an Admiral, using my influence to secure such a lofty title and bestow it upon him. He seemed grateful in a sorrowful sort of way. I hope I do not come to regret my decision.

Last night, I called upon him again to ensure his steadfastness. He was invited to the ball, of course. And after seeing that Anne was quite comfortable as hostess, I slipped away to deal with Swann…with Norrington's aid.

Swann has grown bolder these days and I fear his loyalty is slipping. He questions me often, prods me and pressures me to reveal information about his daughter.

I have said very little so far…so far. But at last he pushed me until my patience slipped.

I called upon Norrington and Swann and brought them both upstairs to converse in private. But before I met with Swann, I drew Norrington aside.

He seems to have a good influence on the old man. I hoped he might talk some sense into him before I was forced to resort to less gentle means.

Norrington appeared hesitant, which troubled me. He said Swann was distraught, worrying after his daughter. I said I wanted Swann's continued assistance and that I was not above throwing him back in prison again.

After that, Norrington agreed to speak with Swann, in my presence of course. I should never wish them to be left alone. Their friendship runs deep and Swann might convince Norrington to turn against me.

Swann was escorted into my study. He looked quite small, cloistered between the dark shelves of books and the flickering light of the fire. I stood before the hearth and enjoyed the way my shadow lengthened against the wall. Norrington placed himself in a tight corner.

"Governor Swann." I addressed him politely. The man continued to look about, his eyes searching the room for some familiar object, I suppose, something to remind him that the house had once been his.

But I had long since purchased new furnishings.

"I will not delay you," I said. The sweet music from downstairs enticed me. I could almost smell Anne's perfume. "Yet I am concerned, your devotion to the East India Trading Company seems to have…lessened. Don't you agree, Norrington?"

I wanted to put him on the spot. Norrington appeared uncomfortable. He shifted and shuffled his feet, then finally replied.

"Yes, of course, my lord."

I smiled a bit then.

"Hasn't the Company rewarded you handsomely?" I directed this question at Norrington again, but he did not answer me.

"Weatherby, don't be an old fool," he said and stared at Swann.

Swann stuttered and I saw his face redden.

"How can you…? How can you…?"

"The Company is most generous…"

"You are the fool, Norrington!" Swann spat suddenly. He drew himself to his full height. "You have let yourself become a pawn, yes! A good man you were once, a good, honest man. Now you are nothing!"

"Old man you are delusion with grief." Norrington's voice hardened.

I said nothing all the while, though I did find some satisfaction in their argument.

"Grief! Ha!" Swann threw back his head and laughed coldly. Norrington seemed to shrink. "You have not even spoken Elizabeth's name since your return. No, I think you never cared for her."

I sensed the danger of the situation then. Norrington's body tensed and he balled his fists, his knuckles white.

I stepped forward, the warmth of the fire tickling my back. I thought it best to silence the both of them.

"Strange you should mention your daughter, Governor."

Swann's face twisted and paled. "You have news of her?"

"In fact, I do. I am sad to say that I received reports of the _Black Pearl's _destruction. She sank, so I am told, along with her crew. Your daughter was aboard at the time."

Now of course, this wasn't entirely true. Yes, I had heard the _Pearl _was no more. But I had also heard that Miss Elizabeth and Turner had survived.

But Norrington and Swann needn't know that.

Swann immediately collapsed into tears. Norrington crumpled against the wall, his head in his hands.

"But, they were sighted," he mumbled. His hands were shaking. "Both Turner and Elizabeth were sighted leaving Caribbean waters."

I glared at him and he fell silent.

"You are mistaken. Mr. Mercer himself reported seeing Miss Swann's body in the water. Hmm, he did not bother to fetch it."

Swann groaned. I smiled. My work was complete.

"You had best think about what I have said," I told Swann as I moved to the door. "Perhaps you might be inclined to strengthen your loyalty to the Company, in your daughter's memory."

Understandably, he said nothing. I left them there and proceeded downstairs to find Anne. But she was not in the parlor or the dining room or the garden. I thought perhaps she had returned upstairs to the ballroom.

Upon my way up the stairs I heard voices. Anne stood in the corridor. Swann wept before her, mumbling nonsense. With ease, I sent Swann away and took Anne's arm.

She was not at all bothered, but intrigued rather. I shall give her a full explanation tonight over dinner.

We spent the rest of the night in each other's company and shared many a dance. Anne simply glowed and relished in her role as the "Lady of Port Royal". Perhaps I shall make a queen of her yet.

Though as I sipped my final glass of port last night, my thoughts wandered back to Swann. I pictured him alone, still weeping and utterly distraught, whispering his daughter's name. I hope the man has learned his lesson.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	9. Anne: April 7, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter nine of "Rubicon". This chapter jumps ahead a bit and is meant to provide a small break between the events of the masquerade and what's to come. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and leave feedback for the last chapter **ElfLuver13**, **sudoku**, **NazgulQueen**, **DemonicSymphony**, **Faith-Catherine**, **Tiera-Tarie** and **Astraeas Dreams**. Your comments are greatly cherished, thank you all! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

April 7, 1731

Dearest Diary,

I have scarce had time to myself these past few weeks. Modest afternoon tea parties, lectures on the virtues of Grecian philosophers and genteel concerts have filled most of my time. It seems that all of Port Royal wishes to impress me, or so Lady Jane said.

She says that never before has such a quiet place hummed with a thrilling social schedule. It is most ridiculous, I think and she agrees. The local gentry make lowly attempts to increase their status. It is nearly laughable, but I am polite. They cannot compare to England, no one can.

The opulence of London, the theater, the art and wealth. No. The Caribbean shall never be England. I suppose I must accept this rustic setting with good grace. But Cutler eases my plight as does Lady Jane. Without them I think I should go quite mad.

Just last Thursday, Lady Jane and I attended a lecture on classic history. The speaker (I cannot recall his name) tried rather unsuccessfully to compare Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. (He should have left that to Plutarch, in my opinion.) Shortly after the lecture, some of the ladies and gentlemen gathered for refreshments in a small garden. There, I overheard the talk of one foolish young girl. She is the daughter of a Navy Captain and I did not even bother to learn her name, she vexed me so.

Standing amongst her companions, she tittered and laughed shrilly.

"I say that Marc Antony was a much better man that Caesar," she said. "At least he found some enjoyment in his existence. My, I should have loved to attend on of his grand banquets!"

I thought I should faint upon hearing such mindless chatter. Poor Lady Jane sighed and shook her head.

"Thank God for you, dear Anne," she said and walked away, vowing not to listen to such stupidity.

I would have followed her, but that young wretch continued on and on. She insisted that Marc Antony was a great man and Cleopatra was a wondrous woman. I could barely keep myself from throttling her.

"Have you ever read the works of Plutarch?" I asked her at last. She stared at me for at least a minute.

"Why yes, some of it," was her reply. "Though I did not understand all that business about Gaul. Rather silly, if you ask me. Caesar should have let them be."

I managed to restrain my anger. Cutler says I have a vile temper, though it takes a good while to work myself up into a fury.

"Than you have no proper place in society!" I said and walked away. She stood there for a long time, quite dumbfounded.

Lady Jane congratulated me thoroughly. She has become a dear friend, I think. We are two peacocks in a musty henhouse. Though I am afraid I have not been wholly honest with her. When she inquired as to my cough, I lied. I said I had a cold.

I do not have a cold.

It has been hard keeping such a secret, especially from dear Cutler. He is most observant and questions me more than anyone. I have learned to take care every time I cough now, pressing a handkerchief to my lips to try to stifle the sound.

I have not told him of the few specks of blood I have seen upon my handkerchief. He says I often look pale and my eyes are swollen. I tell him nothing. Oh, I should not wish to worry him. He seems quite troubled with his duties here.

Cutler speaks of Governor Swann often. He told me, the night after our masquerade, of the man's full part in this sordid tale. Apparently, Swann pledged his allegiance to my husband in exchange for a reprieve for his daughter. But of late, the old man has not kept to his word.

Cutler fears he will turn his coat. And so he told both Swann and Norrington that Miss Elizabeth was dead. Now this is not true, but it shocked them enough to hear it. I do not think he should have told Admiral Norrington though (yes, he is an Admiral now) he seems so heartbroken.

I do not see Admiral Norrington often now. But when I do, he always greets me politely and looks at me in a pained way. I have added his name to my nightly prayers.

I feel I should write only of happy things. And lovely happy things have happened. Lady Jane and her husband have invited Cutler and I to a foxhunt. Lord Nesbitt is hosting the hunt at his plantation just outside of Port Royal. It should be a pleasant change, I think. Cutler is most pleased. In fact, he had two foxes imported from England to chase after. I am amazed the animals did not die during the crossing.

The ship bearing the foxes also brought grand news to me. A letter, from Harriet. She is most well and expecting her first child. So joyous was I that I read the letter over many times and now keep it in a small box upon my dressing table. She did not mention the incident with uncle and I am glad for that. Perhaps uncle was shamed enough to hold his tongue or perhaps Harriet now sees him for what he truly is. I care not, as long as she is not angry with me.

When my time is not distracted with frivolous concerts and gatherings, I spend every moment with my son. Oh how he grows! Though I am afraid his temper has not improved.

He cries often and loudly. One such evening, when he would not quiet, Cutler and I took him out into the garden. The soft air calmed him some, but he squirmed in my arms until I thought I should drop him.

We sat upon the lawn and Cutler took his son upon his knee. Young Cutler quieted then and listened to his father speak. My husband told many tales, stories that we enjoyed as children, stories of knights and ladies and dragons.

I do not think young Cutler understood much. After all, he is under a year old. But still, he enjoyed the sound of his father's voice and the attention we lavished on him.

He has begun to talk himself, murmuring small, nonsensical words at first. Now he calls for us, forming our names on his tiny lips. "Ma" and "Da" That is all he knows. I love hearing his sweet laughter and seeing his smiles. A shame that he must be raised in such a crude place.

The hour grows late and I am weary. I tire easily now, too easily. Though whenever Cutler approaches I try to appear vigorous. He seems to think I am or so I hope.

Lady Anne Beckett

* * *

**Author's Note: **I actually have several one-shots written that go along with the "My Friendliest" and "Rubicon" series, if anyone would like to read them. They were originally posted on LiveJournal but I would be happy to post them here for everyone to read. Please let me know. Thanks for reading! 


	10. Beckett: May 1, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eleven of "Rubicon". This chapter jumps ahead a bit but things will slow down after this. I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed so far, **ElfLuver13**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **sudoku**, **DemonicSymphony**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. Thank you all! I love receiving your comments. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are mine and mine alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 1, 1731

Log,

The coach bounces to and fro. I am hard put to keep my writing steady and the ink bottle trembles upon my knee. Anne is sleeping and I am glad for it. She needs her rest.

The countryside passes by, filled with palm trees and strange flowers. Wild birds of different colors race across the roadway and I can smell the sweetness of the tropical fruits only found in Jamaica. England does not have such delicacies and yet England has proper fox hunting.

It is an unfair trade in many ways. One may live in paradise but must cast off any form of civility. I am not sure which I prefer yet. Much is to be found in the Caribbean and the East India Trading Company flourishes. But Anne misses England as do I. There is certainly something to be said for its moors and meadows and moody weather.

I suppose I must not complain. There is contentment to be found here and wealth. With the particular aid of my newly acquired ship, my prestige grows as do my profits. I have been able to…confiscate certain contraband and increase the affluence of the Company. Perhaps soon I will be able to ship all the comforts of England here. The foxes cost me a pretty penny as did Anne's new pearl necklace.

I am not a frugal man. I spend my money freely but not recklessly. Enhancing our reputation with luxury is not a crime and Anne does look so lovely in the silks and jewels I purchase for her. My greatest desire is to ensure her happiness, in whatever way necessary.

We travel now to a foxhunting party on Lord Nesbitt's plantation, some miles outside of Port Royal. I do not care to go, in truth, but Anne wishes it. Socialization, while pleasant, has its time and place. I should rather be back in town and at work, though Anne insists we must take time for frivolous pastimes. The town bores her and when she begged me to come along, I could not resist.

Perhaps this little outing will put some color back into her cheeks. I pray so, for she is often pale and sickly. I recall her sister Harriet's warning that I received so long ago and the chilling words of the maid, Agnes. Consumption, they said. It is a dreadful illness and causes most certain death. I have seen few of its victims in England. They waste away, so very slowly and they suffer.

I do not want Anne to suffer. And I do not want her to…to…die.

But I mustn't think of such now. Time will tell, I suppose, though I find comfort in the warm breezes. If she truly does have consumption, the humid air of the Caribbean should be of some help to her. We are in the best of places then and I should be content for her sweet company.

Anne was most cheerful when we set out for the plantation several hours ago. We spoke of many things and to my surprise, she brought up her uncle.

"Do you recall the distinct expression on his face when he first made your acquaintance?" she laughed.

I told her I did and we both smiled over it. My wife is different from most that harbor grudges. I have known men and women, for that matter, who refuse to speak the very name of their enemy. It is tiresome in way, to be bound up in so much hate. But Anne seems to have quite forgotten about. She talks of her uncle freely when he is brought up and remains calm.

I cannot tell, however, if any storm brews within.

She has changed in many ways, I think. In her youth Anne was a wild creature, so fierce and fiery that she enticed me thoroughly. Now she has gained a stoic's nature, controlled, indifferent and dignified. And I love her all the more

I fear I might bring about her temper once more though, for the subject of our son's education must be discussed. Anne does not wish him to be sent to any school when he is grown or to have strict tutors. I am afraid I disagree.

But I will let the matter rest for now and we shall enjoy our time at Lord Nesbitt's plantation. I have heard it is a fine place, with a well-appointed house and gardens. Perhaps I will build Anne a plantation someday and all of Jamaica will be her garden.

I try to settle my mind with fanciful thoughts. I am foolish, mayhap. Differing reports have reached me of late and some do worry me. It is said, or whispered, that Jack Sparrow is still alive.

I do not believe or I do not wish too. The _Black Pearl _sank along with her captain. And while Turner and Elizabeth Swann have not been accounted for, Sparrow is most certainly dead.

I do sincerely wish I had seen his body though.

I have kept such news from Norrington and Governor Swann. Mercer alone knows of it and he says little. I would rather not let Swann dare to hope for his daughter. The man has settled into sorrowful submission and he seems to grow older every day. His grief is expected, I suppose. If I received word that my son was dead I too would suffer greatly.

Norrington stays obedient and I meet with him frequently. He did once, however, inquire as to Anne's well being. That surprised me. She must have impressed her loveliness upon him during their crossing. Well, as long as he does not question me too thoroughly, I do not mind.

I should want no man to draw close to my wife.

Yesterday, I sent Norrington aboard my newest vessel and ordered him to tell the captain to attack a certain port. It is a small place, smaller than Tortuga or any other pirate port. But more and more, rogue ships have begun to dock there and conduct illegal trade. With any luck the matter will be settled by the time I return to Port Royal.

The afternoon is warm now and I grow weary. Perhaps I shall rest as Anne does, just for a short while. It is so dreadfully warm.

Lord Cutler Beckett

Later,

Log,

I awoke with a start and found myself still in the coach upon the road to Lord Nesbitt's. Anne dozes beside me and I cannot stop trembling. Dear God, I have been haunted by a dream. I feel ill, almost. The sky outside is dark with rain and thunder rumbles in the distance. What mischief is this?

When I first dozed, I dreamt of pleasant dreams. I lay with Anne in our garden in England. It was summer or so it seemed and the air was gentle. She spoke to me in whispers and smiled and no longer did she look ill. I pulled her closer.

But the garden faded and so did Anne. I stood upon the beach once more and night gathered about me. That wicked wench, that woman in rags, stood before me. She was smiling and her teeth were black. Stretching forth her hand, she took mine in her own and laughed.

"Aye, it will consume her. It will consume her." The woman's voice was strange and frightening. Terror filled me, deep and bewildering. I yanked my hand from her grasp and the dream ended.

What does it all mean?

In my heart, I fear the meaning is all too clear. Anne wheezes in her sleep.

Lord Cutler Beckett

**Author's Note: **I'd also like to say a quick thank you to everyone who read the one-shot I posted. The next one entitled "Frightful News" will be up on Sunday.


	11. Anne: May 2, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eleven of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed my last chapter **NazgulQueen**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **jla2snoopy**, **ElfLuver13**, **kitty**, and **sudoku**. Thank you all so much, your comments are wonderful! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 2, 1731

Dearest Diary,

It is night and I am not the least bit weary. The air is heavy with the heat and it sticks to my very flesh. I can find no rest as I sit in the guest chamber at Lord Nesbitt's plantation. It is a pleasant room, but draped with red curtains and silks. I do not care for such a harsh color.

Cutler has recently left to return to Port Royal. A message came for him this evening and he was forced to take his leave. He would not tell me why exactly, some trouble with one of his ships. I did not question him though, for I was most vexed at the time. Let him settle his business and return to me and maybe _then _he will apologize.

I do not mean to be cruel, but he knew I would not agree with him. He deserves my anger, at least for now.

But I shan't talk about silly things. For it is a silly thing, a trifle really. Never mind it now.

We had a most lovely day, here at Lord Nesbitt's plantation. He arranged a fox hunt through the great fields and pastures that surround his estate. Cutler provided him with the foxes.

Many ladies and gentlemen from throughout Jamaica also accompanied us. Most I had met before and some I did not know. They were all kind enough, but common and they could only speak on simple subjects. Once more I was glad for Lady Jane's company.

We arrived at the plantation yesterday evening and had a quick supper in the dining room. I think of all the rooms Lady Jane showed me, I found the dining room to be the most beautiful. On the right side the wall is interspaced with large French doors that overlook a garden. Lady Jane and her husband invited us to stroll through it after the sun had set.

I must admit that their garden is so much larger than mine. I am quite jealous. Perhaps Cutler might purchase a house in the country. It would be a nice retreat, I think.

The next morning we awoke early and I loved the way a hazy mist dampened the grounds. Our horses were brought around and I dressed in my finest habit. Green, with gold buttons and a three-cornered hat. My horse was one of Cutler's, a swift black gelding with a sweet spirit. Cutler mounted his white stallion and the creature put up such a fuss, tossing his head about in the stable yard and stamping his hooves.

"That creature is mad!" One young lady commented and she looked at Cutler doubtfully. I glared at her and assured her that my husband was an accomplished horseman. Her own horse was thin and lame and could scarce move beyond a slow trot.

The hounds were ushered into the yard and they yowled and whined. Lord Nesbitt was most proud of them, as he bred them himself. Cutler saw fit to compliment him. My husband knows more in the way of dogs than I and by the end of the day, he had secured one of animals for himself.

The creature now sits in my room as he is more of a pet than a hunting dog. But I suppose we have little use for hunting dogs in the Caribbean.

After the hounds were forced into some sort of order, Lord Nesbitt rode to the fore and led us down through his fields. Most were planted and Lord Nesbitt told us he expected a good crop.

It was most boring, I thought, for I do not care to hear how much grain he plans to reap. Three of his servants walked along the edges of the fields and beat away at the brush. The foxes had been released the night before and had quite disappeared.

We rode about in this manner for a long time and I near fell asleep in the saddle. Cutler expressed his boredom to me more than once.

Then suddenly, one of the servants cried out.

"The fox! The fox!"

We all stood in our stirrups and strained our necks. I could see nothing. But then Cutler raised his hand.

"Tally-ho!" He shouted and I glimpsed a flash of red crashing back into the brush. (I was most proud of him at the time for spotting the fox first, but now I am vexed so I will say little more.)

The company pursued the creature at once. Cutler and I broke to the fore at once, with Lord and Lady Nesbitt close behind. A few others followed, but were hard put to keep up with us.

We dashed through three fields and the hounds kept on yowling. My heart thumped heartily in my breast. Oh how I have missed the chase! So long it seems, since Cutler and I bounded over the meadows in England. Of course, the Caribbean countryside cannot compare to Bath, but it will do.

My horse was swift and I had only to give him the rein, no whip. When we reached the fourth field the hounds stopped and bent their noses to the ground.

"They have lost the scent!" I lamented and Cutler brought his horse close to mine.

"I cannot see." And he shielded his eyes, looking to a clump of leafy trees that hemmed the field.

The other riders branched out and searched, the servants following the dogs. A long while passed before anything happened and I began to lose hope. Perhaps we would never find the fox.

Then one of the dogs shrieked. It was a high, whining sound and it chilled me. The others joined in and they swarmed, like rabid creatures, over to a single bush. There was much squawking and fluttering and the servants had to beat the dogs away. One held up a bird, or at least I think it was a bird.

The plumage was quite colorful. I have never seen such feathers before. The dogs had torn into the bird's neck and blood dripped freely.

The servant made to bring the dead bird to Lord Nesbitt but a young gentleman accosted him. Driving his horse between Lord Nesbitt and the servant, he reached down and grabbed the bird, swinging it around in a vulgar fashion.

Some thought this quite amusing. I didn't. From the depths of my memory came an image, an image of a bronzed woman dancing before a fire with a bird in her hand. There was blood everywhere….

Cutler must have noticed my distress. Without a word, he reached for his pistol and shot the bird right out of the gentleman's hand. No one spoke much after that and the company returned to the house.

Dinner was likewise quiet and I did not stay at the table to talk with Lady Jane. I had a headache and retired with Cutler early. He was in a thoughtful mood. The moment we entered our chamber he sat down by the hearth and bid me join him.

"We must look to our son's schooling," he said. I was shocked.

"But darling." I closed my hand over his. "Young Cutler is not even aged a year! How should we look to his schooling now? It is too soon, certainly you realize that."

We had not taken our son with us to the plantation, but left him in the care of Agnes in Port Royal.

"No." He shook his head then and stared into the fire. "You witnessed the actions of that man today. The men of the Caribbean are brutes, all of them. I would not have him subject to such crudeness."

"Then what will you do?" I asked. My tone was a bit harsher than I had intended, but so greatly did I dislike any talk of our son's education.

"When he is old enough, I will hire the very best of tutors. And then when he has outgrown them, I will send him to England for schooling or further aboard. He will not be raised here."

"But Cutler!" I stood and he stared up at me as if I was mad. "No, I shan't let you! I do not want our child sent away. He will stay with us."

"Anne, be calm." He stood as well and put his hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back down into my seat. "You act foolishly, nothing has been decided yet. And surely, you can not argue with what is best for our son."

"You would raise him as a Spartan, I think!" I accused. Cutler's eyes darkened.

"I have said nothing of the sort."

"Yes, that is what you would do."

"Then you, madam, would raise him as a hellion, without proper guidance or care."

"Never!" I shot to my feet once more. But upon standing I felt so weak that I collapsed.

It was most embarrassing, laying on the floor in a plume of silk with Cutler staring down at me. But his face was soft once more.

"Anne?" He tried to reach down and help me, but I brushed him away.

"Leave me be!" I ordered and he retreated.

"Anne, what is it?" Cutler kept asking me the same thing over and over as I dragged myself back onto the seat of my chair.

"Nothing, I am well."

A knock sounded upon the door just then and he was distracted. Now, I thank God for such a distraction. He did not notice the blood that leaked from my mouth as I coughed. It was bright and red and I wiped it away quickly with the edge of my sleeve. How horribly wretched.

When Cutler returned he had a note in hand and looked most annoyed.

"What is it?" I asked. My voice sounded ragged. I do not think he noticed.

"A message from Norrington, there is trouble in Port Royal. One of my captains refuses to sail."

"Oh. Will you go?" I asked him. He looked down at the note and back up at me.

"I do not wish to leave you."

"Why? I am well."

He did not seem to believe me, but a moment later he shrugged into his coat.

"Stay in this chamber," Cutler ordered. I did not argue and let him kiss me upon the cheek.

He has been gone for a long while and I doubt he shall return tonight. It is rather boring sitting alone in my chamber and I shiver now. The fire has gone out.

But perhaps I shall lay down. I am a bit weary after all. There is no sense, I suppose in…..

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next one-shot "Frightful News" will be up tomorrow. It's actually a bit humorous, unlike what the title suggests. Thanks so much for reading! 


	12. Beckett: May 4, 1731

**Author's note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twelve of "Rubicon". I have decided to spilt Lord Beckett's diary entry in half, otherwise this chapter would be too long. So look for the concluding half next chapter. I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and **Astraeas Dreams **for reviewing the last chapter. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 4, 1731

Log,

It is early morn and dawn approaches. I have never been happier to see the rising sun and the mist that slips over the hills. The air is cool and soft and it washes away the stench of blood. Good God, there was blood everywhere….

I have stepped outside our guest chamber at Lord Nesbitt's plantation, if only for a moment. The corridor is quiet and no one in the house stirs. Even the servants seem to slumber, unless they are invisible shadows, passing through the rooms unnoticed.

But I suppose I am too weary to notice anything.

I do not hesitate to say that last night was the very worst in my life. It all seems like a horrid nightmare now as I try to piece it together.

It began the night before just after dinner. Anne and I had quarreled. The subject of our son's education was mentioned and she became fierce and wild. Perhaps now I attribute her rage to her illness. But by God, I cannot think of it now.

In the midst of our rather heated debate, a message was brought to me from Admiral Norrington in Port Royal. I could tell the man was panicked. His handwriting looked tight and nervous.

As it seemed, Davy Jones (I use his name freely now) refused to sail to the pirate port I had ordered him to raid. Norrington provided me no reason for Jones' sudden rebellion but begged me to return straight away. The captain of the _Flying Dutchman _would heed no threat and it was perceived that only I had true power over him, having possession of his heart.

But I did not wish to leave Anne. She had collapsed or so it seemed and I thought she looked horrible. However, she would not let me stay by her side and bid me go. So haughty she can be sometimes, fatally so perhaps.

The coach was brought about and I left the plantation. And as we trotted down the long drive to the road, I glanced at the small window that marked our chamber. I should have turned right around at that very moment.

Oh had I known. Had I known.

I came to Port Royal before dawn and the streets were quiet. The coach pulled directly up to Fort Raleigh and Norrington stood at the gate. His hat was in his hands.

"My lord, I am so sorry for this disturbance," he said the moment I stepped down from the coach. "I am so very sorry. But Jones, he refuses to sail."

I waved him away, for most annoyed was I and hurried up to my office. Inside, Mr. Mercer stood and his face was long in the last light of the moon.

"Jones has pulled his cursed ship into the port," he said and I grimaced.

"Are you both mad to have him do so?" I asked. "Have it removed by dawn before all the world sees. Have him put out to sea!"

"Yes my lord." And Norrington hurried off to do his duty. I found my chair and sat and watched the shadows that died on the walls. I hoped that only the rascally drunkards wandering by the docks would have a tale to tell. And none believed them.

After a while, I called Mercer to me.

"Where is the heart?" I asked and he seemed shocked by my question.

"Locked away as always, my lord," he said at once.

"Make sure," I said. And he rushed off down to the black dungeons. My fear began to grow after some time had passed and neither he nor Norrington had returned.

I stood and paced and many a chill washed over me. At last, both Mercer and Norrington came stumbling in.

"Well?" I demanded of them. Mercer caught his breath first.

"It's safe, my lord. I saw it myself," he said. I tried not to show my relief. Instead, I nodded and turned to Norrington.

"Has Jones put out to sea?"

"Yes, he has. Not far away he is, but far enough not to be seen. He still refuses to sail though," Norrington said. I frowned and turned to the window. Dawn touched the horizon.

"Have you threatened him?" I asked.

"He would heed nothing I said," Norrington replied. "In fact, he has asked for you."

I turned around and fear tormented me. What could Jones think to benefit from a meeting with me? Certainly, he did not believe he could convince me to release him from servitude?

I did not want to meet with him, the stories alone had chilled me.

"That will not be necessary," I said. But both Norrington and Mercer continued to stare at.

"We cannot leave him anchored at sea, my lord," Norrington said.

"What use would he be of then?" Mercer asked.

For the first time, it seemed Norrington and Mercer had found something to agree upon.

Once more, I looked out over the harbor to where the sea churned. It could all be lost just as easily as it had been gained.

"Very well," I said at last. "But I will meet with him for only a brief time."

Norrington seemed relieved and the lines that creased his brow faded. "Thank you, my lord," he said and left to arrange the strange affair.

I waited with Mercer for a short while. Norrington sent word that all was ready and we took a small vessel out to where Jones had my ship.

It was a frightful thing, I must say. So very frightful and wretched and bleak. At first I did not believe it to be a ship at all, but rather a huge reef raised from the floor of the sea. But a great mast reached towards the light sky and the hull jerked along the waves. I hesitated a brief moment before boarding and tried to quell my nerves.

It would not do well to appear nervous in front of Jones. The vessel I sailed in drew closer to the ghastly ship and I boarded. A foul stench brushed away the brisk sea breezes and a crimson sun rose. The wind seemed to bleed with the harsh light.

At first it seemed we (Norrington, Mercer and I) stood upon the deck alone. There were no sailors to be seen and only a few marines moved about. They were all pale, I noted, made of thin skin and bones.

And then there came a slow sound, a thumping almost, like a heart. Thump, thump, thump. I grasped my sword. Thump, thump, thump. It went on and on and from the top deck a creature strode, a beast.

I could not tell if he was man or demon. His flesh was slick with sea water. Tentacles formed his beard and he had great claws for hands.

"Lord Beckett?" He spoke like a man of England though, in a clear and easy voice.

I nodded. "Jones?"

"Aye."

"Where is your crew?" I asked and I was happy for the strength of my tone.

Jones moved across the deck, but did not draw close to me. "Below. Best we settle this matter ourselves, I think."

"Very well," I replied. "But there is no matter to settle. You have your orders. Why do you not hasten to obey?"

Jones did not respond at once. He massive shoulders shifted and he regarded me with surprisingly bright eyes. "I'd rather not raid that specific port," he said at last.

"Why?" I asked.

"A personal matter, my lord. I made my home there for a time, as a lad."

I could not picture the creature as a lad and I squinted, searching for the remnants of humanity in his face. "All the more reason then."

"It's a calm place," he said. "Quiet-like. No harm done there. Let it be, my lord, let it be."

Was he begging, I thought. No, a creature like that could not beg. I scowled at him.

"You have your orders, captain."

He grunted or so I thought and sighed. "But, my lord-

"There is a dagger poised above your heart, Jones," I said sharply. "And at any moment I might give the command to have it rip into your flesh. Should you like that?"

I waited for him to respond to my threat, but he did not. Satisfied, I turned to leave. Perhaps the monster could be controlled, I decided. Easily controlled.

But I had not set my foot on the boarding plank when Jones called out to me.

"Your wife is sickly, eh Beckett?"

I froze and a darkness filled me. The sun was spilling red across the waves.

"Your little wife," he said. "A poor, sickly young thing."

I did not turn about, nor did I pay any mind to the stares of Norrington and Mercer.

"The dagger inches closer!" I cried and hurried back to my vessel. As we departed, I watched the _Dutchman_ sail away. And I wished never to see it again.

A messenger from Lord Nesbitt awaited me in Port Royal. I had not stepped off the boat when he came running up the dock, crying out.

"Lord Beckett! Lord Beckett! Your wife's taken ill, sir!" he cried. "You must come. The doctor fears her death."

I remember little else of that morning and afternoon, which passes before my eyes in a panicked blur. But I fear I shan't tell the full of it now. Doctor Carey calls me from the hall. I must go.

Lord Cutler Beckett

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next one-shot "Blessings" will be up on Monday. Thanks for reading! 


	13. Beckett: May 4, 1731 continued

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter thirteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and review the last chapter, **ElfLuver13**, **sudoku**, **OllieofFreeOxen**, **Astraeas Dreams**, and **NazgulQueen**. Thanks a million! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 4, 1731

Log,

Anne is sleeping again. Doctor Carey tells me she will need much rest and I am not to disturb her. The man is fortunate to be alive, after what he has done. Once more I am banished from the chamber and sent into the hall. The other guests have awakened by now and they question me.

"How is her ladyship?" they ask and then cluck their tongues.

"Dreadful, dreadful," I hear them mutter.

But I am alone now once more and have some time. Perhaps I may complete my account of the night before without interruption.

I left Port Royal immediately after receiving the message. My heart seemed to have stopped beating as I climbed into the coach and we cantered down the road. But during the afternoon hours, a great rain storm came and the horses could only move slowly. I was delayed and I could have wept for fear.

What if I arrived too late? What if my dear wife was dead?

The clouds broke at twilight and I ordered the coachmen to hurry along. He did not question me but whipped up the horses.

I came to the plantation that night. The curtains were drawn over the window of the guest chamber Anne occupied and the grounds were still. Lord Nesbitt came out to meet me and the look on his face suggested the worst.

"We sent for the very best doctor," he said. Lady Jane was standing by his elbow. Her face was white.

"What happened?" I demanded of them.

Lady Jane refused to meet my gaze. "A servant came to me some time last night," she said. "And, Lady Beckett…" Lady Jane broke off suddenly. "There was blood upon her shift and she would not rouse. She…she kept coughing up blood."

I wanted to hear no more. Instead, I strode past them and entered the house. Lord Nesbitt was at my heels.

"My lord," he said. "The doctor is with her now, there is little to be done."

I paused on the bottom step of the long staircase. Servants milled about in the foyer and hall and I hated their bold stares. Wretches, all of them.

"I will see her at once," I said and Lord Nesbitt tried to follow me upstairs.

"There is little to be done, my lord, please." I ignored him. The corridor leading to the guest room was hot and bright. I came to the chamber and paused with my hand upon the door knob.

I heard a voice inside, one I did not recognize. And then a groan, Anne's.

I threw upon the door. An younger man was bending over my wife. He had a lancet in hand and he dragged it across her arm. Blood spurted and spilled out over the coverlets of the bed. A basin was held beneath the wound to catch the crimson liquid.

My stomach threatened to revolt. Anne's face was white, her eyes sunken. She coughed suddenly and it seemed as though she could not catch her breath. The man said something. He lifted his lancet once more.

But I would not let him touch her. I hurried across the room and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away.

"By God, I will kill you!" I cried.

"What is the meaning of this?" He struggled in my grasp and dropped the lancet. Anne began to cough again. I saw blood upon her lips.

"Anne?" I let the man go and moved to her side. The wound upon her arm still leaked. I undid my neckcloth and tied it about the thin cut. She did not move.

"Lord Beckett, I presume?" the man said. He was tall and young with red hair. I did not like the look of him.

"Are you the doctor?" I asked.

"Doctor Nathanial Carey," he said. "I assume you know your wife has consumption?"

He said it so calmly. I wanted to throttle him.

"So I feared," I replied. I took Anne's hand in mine and felt the chill upon it

"Then I suppose you also know that she is with child."

I stared at him "What mean you?"

"She is with child." He looked at me as though I were an idiot. "Do you believe she has made a cuckold out of you?"

"How dare you?" I turned away from the bedside. How could the man suggest such a thing?

Doctor Carey shrugged. "Your surprise suggested it."

"Not at all," I replied bitterly.

"I was sent for because your wife had fallen into a swoon after vomiting blood," he continued and turned his back to me. An old, beaten bag sat on a chair by the hearth. He had picked up his fallen lancet and was cleaning it with a stained rag. Then into the bag went the lancet.

"I have seen several sufferers of consumption, most vomit blood."

I wanted to lunge at him again, but Anne's desperate breathing kept me by her side.

"What can you do?" I asked.

"I have already bled her," he said. "Let her rest and I will take more in the morning."

"Is that all?" I glanced at my wife and she stirred, though her eyes remained closed. Suddenly, she coughed violently and the front of her shift was colored red. I was near panic.

Doctor Carey sighed. "Try to keep her still," he said. He picked up his bag and moved towards the door.

"Will you do nothing else?" I asked. He did not glance back at me.

"I will pray that she makes it through the night," Doctor Carey said. "If she does then perhaps she might recover…some."

And he left. I felt abandoned, lost. Trembling, I pulled a chair next to the bed and sat there for the night. Anne no longer coughed blood and she seemed to sleep.

I kept my eyes on her chest and watched it rise and fall.

She was ill…and with child.

What emotions could I possible feel?

Then heaven smiled and sometime around dawn she woke.

"Cutler?" She stared at me with round eyes and I found tears in my own. "I've had a dream and it frightened me."

"Worry not," I said and I pressed a kiss to her hand.

But she rolled onto her side and continued to speak. "A woman, she comes to me in my dreams often. Her skin is dark and she speaks in a strange voice."

I felt fear rise within me then. Could this be the same woman that had haunted me for so long? Could Anne have had the same dream?

But I did not want to trouble her so I told her of the child. She smiled at once and squeezed my hands.

"Are you pleased?" she asked. I nodded.

"Very."

Then suddenly, Anne frowned.

"Cutler, I have been keeping something from you," she said. "I am sure the doctor has spoken with you though. I…I am ill."

I did not know what to say at first, but somehow I found the words. "All will be well," I said. "I am sure of it."

Doctor Carey came in then and he was most pleased with Anne's condition. I pulled him aside, however and asked him not speak of her consumption.

I do not wish all of Port Royal to know of it, especially after Jones' spoke so chillingly.

I am most tired now. A servant has brought dinner up to me and Lord Nesbitt wishes to join me. Most of the hunting party has departed he says and we shall leave as soon as Anne is well to travel.

Another child. I am pleased, but terrified.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	14. Anne: May 30, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter fourteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter, **ElfLuver13**,** OllieofFreeOxen**, **anotherblastedromantic**, **sudoku**, **Tiera-Tarie**, and**Astraeas Dreams**. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic so all mistakes that appear are my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 30, 1731

Dearest Diary,

It is pleasant to be in Port Royal once more. The countryside provides certain delights but after our last sojourn there, I believe we shall never return.

Cutler swears the humid air had something horrid to do with my health. He says he wishes us to stay in the town from now on, lest I need a doctor. I will not argue with him, I still haven't the strength. After all, I shouldn't wish to leave my son now, especially as I am expecting another child.

It is a strange thing. I always thought we should have a large family and yet I have grown so accustomed to young Cutler, I could not imagine having a new babe.

But oh it is wondrous news and my husband is overjoyed, though he still wishes the babe might be born on proper English soil. The Caribbean will have to do, I suppose.

We were forced to remain at Lord Nesbitt's plantation another week after my illness took hold. Doctor Carey would not allow me to travel, no matter how heatedly Cutler fought with him. I did not mind so much.

Even at the end of the week Doctor Carey was hesitant. But I think Cutler would have no more of it.

Upon our return, Cutler said he did not wish all of Port Royal to know of my sickness. I agreed. It would be better not to have the stares of all follow me, more so than usual that is.

Illness is equated with weakness and I will not be seen as weak. No, that shall not do.

I think I have much recovered for a time though. A few good meals have brought me to my feet and sitting in the garden does me well. Only once did my husband think to warn me against spending time in our garden. He fears every breeze will be the death of me.

I will not permit him to hinder me so. The garden is my sanctuary and he shall not keep me from it.

I do not think Cutler had the will to argue further with me. He dropped the matter at once and said nothing more.

I worry for him, greatly. Of late he has changed. I have noticed his paranoia, his withdrawn state. I wonder what vexes him. I pray it is not my illness or the coming of the new child. He is happy, isn't he?

My curiosity gets the better of me or perhaps it is my fear. I was bold, last Tuesday, when I dared to pry into his unease. I thought to visit him at his offices, where for hours at a time he shuts himself up, away from the world and away from me.

It was not my place, but I went anyway taking Agnes with me. I knew he would scold me so fiercely for going out and about but I did not care.

The building was stately and handsome. Cutler had pointed it out to me in passing one day. Soldiers stood around and as the carriage pulled up, one hurried to help me down.

"My lady!" he exclaimed and bowed as low as he could. "What brings you here today? Might I help you?"

"What is your name, good man?" I asked.

He smiled and bowed once more. "Private Murtogg, my lady."

"Then would you be so kind as to tell my husband that I am here to see him," I said. Private Murtogg appeared flustered.

"Of course, my lady. I shall see him straight away, straight away, my lady." And he hurried off, leaving Agnes and I to stand before the carriage.

We seemed to wait for a long time and I grew impatient. My strength, as I have mentioned, has not yet returned and it taxes me to stand for so long. At long last Private Murtogg returned, this time with Admiral Norrington by his side.

I was happy to see him for I find him most kind, if not sorrowful. He smiled, bowed and kissed my hand.

"Lady Beckett, I am so sorry you were kept waiting," he said and I waved away his apology.

"I have come to see my husband," I said. Like Private Murtogg had appeared before, Norrington looked flustered.

"He is out, my lady and I know not when he shall return," Norrington replied. He glanced at the carriage then, as if willing me to dash away once more. But I would not be so easily appeased.

"I will await him then," I said. Admiral Norrington's face flushed.

"Are you sure, my lady? The day is warm." He looked at me doubtfully, his eyes finding my pale, thin face. I covered it with my fan at once.

"I shall wait inside," I answered. And I walked past him, not giving him a moment to reply. I did not think he would argue with me, but I would certainly not give him the opportunity to.

The hall was long and dark and cool. I sank into a chair that was pushed up against the wood-paneled wood. I had neither the mind nor the energy to explore the place. Admiral Norrington stood across from me underneath a portrait of some long-gone governor. His hands were knotted behind his back and he watched me.

Quiet men can be quite good for conversation, I have found. They must be negotiated and cajoled and prodded at until they finally agree to speak. And once they do, I have found the results to be most startling. Quiet men know much more than any can tell.

Our conversation started with small questions and light talk. I then questioned him further, asked him of his family and life and why he came to the Caribbean.

At first, he would speak very little. Then at last he admitted to having a mother and father, both of whom had died. I expressed my sympathy, having also lost a parent.

He told me he came to the Caribbean as a Lieutenant in the Navy but spoke no more on the matter.

A good while past before the dear man would continue. He steered away from my heavy questions and spoke of his new position as an Admiral. Little did I know then how helpful such talk could be.

"There is unfairness in all this," Norrington said at length. I nodded and clucked my tongue. He smiled, seeming to enjoy my attention.

"I never expected to be in such a fortunate position," he continued. "Nor do I consider it fair, even after such a trade I made with your husband."

And then he looked terrified, his eyes going wide and his hands clenching into fists. I pitied him, for it seemed he had said something he wished never to be uttered. Exercising the utmost civility, I pretended to ignore the comment, though in my private hours, I still ponder it.

What sort of trade passed between them?

Unfortunately, I did not speak with Admiral Norrington any longer that day or I might have learned more. Cutler came into the hall shortly afterwards and ushered me away. Norrington bid me farewell and disappeared into some adjourning room. Poor dear, he is nearly as pale and drawn as I.

Cutler did not scold me for coming to see him. He took me home in the carriage and then stayed with me for the rest of the day. We sat in the gardens with our son and watched as the twilight deepened.

I can see the fear in his eyes, that desperate, clawing fear that torments him. He is frightened for me and I am frightened for myself. Doctor Carey says that I am stronger than most in my condition, but the illness has already settled deep in my lungs.

To most, consumption is fatal.

But I will not think of it now. I am well for the time being and happiness can be found in such sweet moments.

Lady Anne Beckett


	15. Beckett: June 14, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter fifteen of "Rubicon". I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read and review, **Tiera-Tarie**, **ElfLuver13**, **Faith-Catherine**, **NazgulQueen**, and **anotherblastedromantic**. Your comments mean so much to me, thank you all! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic so all mistakes that appear are my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

June 14, 1731

Log,

This weather is insufferable. No, insufferable does not suit my mood. This is Hell.

During the day I must sit and sweat in my offices upon the docks. No breeze touches the waves, none at all. Upon my balcony I am greeted by the sun alone and the pestering chatter of gulls. The citizens of Port Royal move about slowly, red-faced. They are beaten down by the heat as am I.

At night I throw off the blankets and hope for cool air to brush my skin. But I will not open the windows, now matter how Anne protests. I shan't have her fall ill for the relief one breeze brings.

She mumbles and complains and tosses and turns. Neither of us may find any rest. Sometimes she wishes to converse with me, but I almost too weary for words or anything else, for that matter.

I think Anne is angry with me. I think all of Port Royal and the damned Caribbean is angry with me.

Oh how I miss England and the normalcy it brings. I do not wish my child to be born here. But Anne, with her blood-shot eyes and desperate cough, assures me that all will be well.

She is still beautiful, though and I would have her know it. Does she not see the way Norrington dares to look at her? I nearly came to blows with him over it. He stares too boldly for my liking.

Anne came to my office two weeks ago and I caught him with her in corridor. No smile touched his lips, but in his eyes there was a pained look, a look of longing.

When he came to my office, I scolded him. The man had the gall to deny my claim.

My voice rose against him and he simply stood there, shoulders slumped. He seems rebellious of late. I wonder what thoughts tempt his mind. What Eve and serpent seduce him? Shall he be my Brutus? I pray not.

Another, more irritating matter arose two days ago as well. Elizabeth Swann was sighted by one of my ships near the Orient. And she is reported to be healthy and well and wretchedly alive.

I would not be so concerned had Weatherby Swann not found out. I do not know how the news came to him, but he was in my office for a long while afterwards.

Norrington appeared quite overjoyed himself. Damn them both.

Swann is no longer troubled by my threats and I am worried. After he took his leave, I called Mercer to me. If Swann continues on this way, he will be disposed of.

I will not lose my hold upon the Caribbean. Not now.

Jones, however, has done his duty without another word. I do not know whether to be pleased or paranoid.

Paranoid, perhaps. There is nothing wrong with it. A self-imposed state of readiness, when not induced by panic, may be most beneficial. After all, did not Caesar anticipate his crossing of the Rubicon? And I daresay he was most successful.

Here I stand, trapped betwixt Norrington, Swann and Jones. A new triumvirate are they? I think not. Only one will emerge victor and I must assure it is myself, for Anne's sake.

Both Norrington and Jones are of the utmost use. I shall not dispatch them yet. Swann, however, must take care.

Oh if only this wretched heat would lift. Then I should think more clearly.

My other cause for concern is less natural, carrying over to the preternatural. Anne has told me of her dreams and while I had hoped they were inspired by illness, I begin to doubt.

So similar they are to mine, so exact. Who is this woman and why does she haunt us?

I put little store in prophecy and foresight, but I do wonder, is this not a sign? I remember the Romans and their augers, splitting the stomachs of sheep to discover what lay within. I remember the accounts of many dreams that warned or doom and brought news of victory.

Is this woman a priestess or specter? Goddess or demon?

Perhaps my ruminations are useless. The warmth of the air twists the mind and conjures strange thoughts and fancies. That is all it is mayhap, a fancy.

So I hope.

There is good news to be had, though and I must speak of it. Our little son, young Cutler, reached his first birthday in good health and pleasant spirits. He walks now or tries to as Anne says. Just last week he took a step across the lawn and then another, before falling upon his knees. He is determined though, much like myself.

To celebrate the happy occasion, I presented him with a silver rattle and for Anne, a very grand gift. From Lord Nesbitt I secured a fine horse, a young mare of good-breeding and possessing a most kind temperament.

She is a queenly creature, better than some that come from England or Europe. Anne was quite pleased with my gift and she rode the horse about the stable yard against my wishes. Though I suppose it is silly of me to think she will not ride.

As to the naming of the animal, we had another joyful disagreement. I suggested Cleopatra, for the beauty of the Eastern queens. But Anne scoffed and said she would not have her horse named after a whore. Instead, she dubbed her Octavia, after the faithful wife of Mark Antony.

Anne has always possessed a most clever mind.

She is happy now, I think, I hope. And if riding her horse about the stable yard keeps her content then I will say little of it.

But horses and gifts will not keep her well. I must send for a doctor, a good doctor. And such doctors are only to be found in England.

I must have time to think and to rest. Damn this heat.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	16. Anne: July 1, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter sixteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **OllieOfFreeOxen**, **Faith-Catherine**, **Astraeas Dreams**, **sudoku**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **ElfLuver13** and **anotherblastedromantic**. Thanks so much! Your continued support is truly appreciated. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

July 1, 1731

Dearest Diary,

Oh she is beautiful, truly, with her sleek back and long legs and pretty copper coat. I loved her at once. Cutler gifted her to me, a small and strong mare to whisk me about the countryside. And oh, I love my husband.

I have named her Octavia, after a right and good woman. A noble name for a noble beast and a noble beast for a noble lady.

I am giddy with happiness.

Cutler knows this and he is pleased that my pain has lessened. I do not tell him how weary I am though, no that should never do. He would forbid me to even visit Octavia in the stables. I could not abide that.

She is a sweet little thing, too. Gentle with Young Cutler enough to let him tap her on her soft nose. He delights in horses as well, quite like his parents. Often I take him along to the stables with me and he coos and giggles and bounces in my arms. Someday soon he shall be riding, though I hope not too soon. Once children learn how to ride they learn to ride away.

That would be the very death of me.

Octavia makes me forget my worries now and I think less on the thoughts that trouble me. And I think less on the cough that pains me. All is most well.

The days pass quickly now in the Caribbean though the waves seem unchanging. I am changing though, as the child grows within me. My abdomen grows but my arms shrink. I am thin but not yet so. An effect of the consumption I am sure, a most curious and frightening effect.

I have hired no mid-wife this time. After the horrid experience with the moldy old spinster in England, I shan't let one of their kind touch me ever again. Agnes has seen fit to care for me and I wager she has birthed more children than any midwife.

The child is healthy, she says, though the mother ails. I only hope my strength carries me long enough…just long enough…

Rest is imperative though I have found little. This weather is simply wretched and I suffer each night. The very air clings to my skin and Cutler moans and tosses beside me. And when I do sleep, my mind is troubled with dreams.

Oh I would be rid of the dreams now. At first they were a strange curiosity, a fancy that intrigued me from time to time. But not now.

It seems that nary a night passes when the witch does not come to visit me. She has companions now, companions that move about fires as shadows but sometimes I see their faces.

One is a woman, beautiful but hard with a wounded look about her. She does not speak to me nor look at me and I dislike her very much.

The other is Admiral Norrington. I dare not say a word more…I dare not…

I find that the longer I remain trapped in my chamber, the more frequent my dreams become. Perhaps my mind conjures fantasies because my body is so stationary. I tried to go out once yesterday without Cutler and that proved to be a near disaster. Fortunately, he suspects nothing and dear Admiral Norrington came to my aid. Thank the Lord for Admiral Norrington.

As it was, I sensed Octavia had grown weary of her stall just as I had grown weary of my chamber. In secrecy, I ordered the coachman to harness her to the small postchaise Cutler keeps for quick journeys. He did not dare disobey me, for my temper is known and he had Octavia readied in the morning.

I waited until Cutler had left for the day to take my own leave. I had hoped for only a short ride in the countryside, only a short, quiet ride. But oh, I think I should have stayed locked within my chamber.

The coachman took me upon the scenic roads though rarely did he speak. I entertained myself by watching the countryside pass by, the brilliant flowers and great palm trees. We did not pass through Port Royal and by doing so, were restricted to some paths that had fallen into disrepair. My driver was cautious enough to avoid most of the ruts and Octavia minded her pace well.

Throughout the morning we drove past some small little cottages. Not many people did we meet, but few enough to give me a chill. They seemed almost frightened of me and ducked within their doors as soon as they heard the clatter of Octavia's hooves. I did not know what to make of it.

Only once I heard my name whispered, by two young women that stood perched by their garden gate.

"That's Lady Beckett, I'm sure of it," the one said. The other looked quite surprised.

"Lord Beckett's wife? Is he not…"

But I could not hear the rest of what she said though their stares unnerved me. I felt most unwelcome.

By noon I asked the coachman to turn about and return to town. I feared Cutler might think to come home early and find me missing. I did not want to risk his anger, or his fear for that matter. He is simply too fearful these days.

The coachman obliged, turning Octavia around and trotting briskly back into Port Royal. We had not gone halfway though when the right wheel rolled into a rut and snapped. The poor coachman was nearly thrown from his seat and I only managed to sit still by grabbing onto the side of the chaise.

I was most vexed, to say the very least, for we could go no further.

"Should I go into town Lady Beckett?" the coachman asked but I did not want to be left alone for long or delay our progress.

"Was there not a small house just a half a mile back?" I questioned him. He raised a brow and shook his head.

"Yes, my lady, but I doubt they would offer us any help."

"Well go and see, man," I ordered. My frustration rose with every breath. Was the man a fool?

"Aye, Lady Beckett." And he hurried off down the road. I waited by Ocatvia and stroked her nose with my fingers. She was most calm and untroubled by the incident. Such a good and faithful horse is she.

The coachman returned shortly…alone.

"Was there no one home?" I asked. "I thought I saw a young man standing by the window when we passed."

"Aye, my lady," he said and his eyes were downcast. "There was a young man and his wife. But they won't offer as any help. I am sorry. Should I go into town now?"

I could scarce believe his words. Who would not think to help me? I remembered a similar occurrence several years past when Cutler and I were traveling to Harriet's for Christmaside and our coach wheel broke. A kindly peasant family permitted us to spend the night with them until our wheel was repaired. Would this family not do the same?

The situation appeared terribly bleak. I paced along the roadway for a moment and thought of what to do. Should I risk sending the coachman into town alone or should I go with him?

Fortunately, I was spared having to decide when a horseman came cantering down the highway. It was Admiral Norrington, handsome and dashing in his deep blue uniform.

He saw us at once and pulled off to the side of the road with a bemused expression upon his face.

"Oh Admiral!" I gestured hopelessly at the broken wheel. "I am afraid I do not know what to say."

He dismounted, a frown tugging his lips. "My lady, does your husband know of this?"

"No," I said and I quickly told him of what had happened. He nodded when I finished, turning to the coachman.

"Take my horse into town for help. I will stay with Lady Beckett," he said.

The coachman was quick to obey. Up he leapt onto the Admiral's horse, leaving but a cloud of stirred dust in his wake. Admiral Norrington and I stood across from each other for an awkward moment. Then he politely took my arm and led me to a small meadow adjoining the road. Like a true gentlemen, he laid his coat upon the ground and bade me sit.

Thankfully, the dear man did not have to be coaxed into conversation this time. He discussed many light matters, pointing out the pretty little flowers that surrounded us and the birds that perched in the trees.

I much liked the sound of his voice. He is a most knowledgeable man, as it is. For a long while, I let him talk and enjoyed the way he smiled every so often.

Poor man. I do not wish him to stay alone as he is. Surely, there must be some happiness for him?

He fell silent for a space then and I noticed his eyes upon me.

"You look very beautiful, my lady," he said at length.

"Why thank you, sir." I did not think to blush. Perhaps I should have. A strange thought came to my mind then. I turned and faced him with a questioning glance.

"Do you know I have had the strangest dreams of late," I said.

"Dreams, my lady?" He was much taken aback.

"Yes," I continued. "Two women appear to me and one I am sure I have seen before. Her face is familiar in a way. Beautiful, she is, with light hair and light eyes. She is most thin and has high cheekbones stretched beneath her bronze skin. And full lips, yes, very full lips. I wonder who she is."

But Admiral Norrington did not reply. He looked as though I had stricken him with a fatal blow. The dear man bowed his head and paled. I meant to I inquire as to his sudden distress but the coachman returned just then.

Admiral Norrington rose to his feet, kissed my hand and bid me farewell. Without another word he mounted his horse and rode away.

Oh what wickedness comes from my dreams?

The wheel was repaired and we returned home before Cutler knew of my little adventure. I find myself concerned now. Something dark and mysterious is at work here and I must know of it. Cutler keeps some secret, some horrid secret I fear. I will ask it of him soon.

Lady Anne Beckett


	17. Beckett: July 20, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter seventeen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **anotherblastedromantic**, **ElfLuver13**, **NazgulQueen**, **Astraeas Dreams**, and **sudoku**. Thank you all! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

July 20, 1731

Log,

My mind is running and I cannot stop it. Anne, she came to me this night and oh dear God, she made me tell her the full of it. How could I refuse her? How could I spin falsehoods and deceive the one I hold most dear? She deserved the truth, the bare, unadorned truth. And I gave her the truth, the bare, unadorned truth. Oh if only she weren't so pale.

The evening began in a calmly fashion. I arrived home and took my dinner with Anne. The weight of this child troubles her, I think and she fusses over her food. Or perhaps her appetite dwindles with the touch of consumption. Already, she is wasting away.

My wife spoke most lightly this evening, however. She did not hint at any concern nor mention that her mind was troubled. I thought her cheerful, in fact. She spoke of her day and how she walked through the gardens with our son and brought him to the stables. But Anne is more of a liar than I. With her cool, sweet smile she is manipulative. With her airy gestures she weaves her own falsehoods. She said nothing of her concern until we were seated in the parlor.

The maid, Agnes, had just taken young Cutler to bed. As soon as she had sallied from the room, Anne turned to me and her face was cold.

"Darling, I must ask you something," she said.

"Oh?" I said with a smile. I thought she was jesting and I paced before the hearth. Perhaps she would ask me for a new gown or pretty jewel?

"Cutler, why do you lie to me?"

I froze and she noticed my fear. Anne raised one brow, one delicate brow and suddenly her face looked brazen, like Aphrodite come down from the heavens to play a trick on poor Achilles.

"Anne." I tried to laugh, oh I tried to laugh and cover my guilty nature. But she was stony, her hands folded upon her lap. And her eyes were both wise and keen. What did she know of my secrecy?

Still I tried to bluff. "What lie?"

"It is written in your words," she replied. "And in your stance and even in the way you look at me. I can sense your fear, your denial. Why do you think to hide something from me?"

I did not know how respond. Damn Norrington, he must have told her. Or another whoreson of Port Royal. But in my heart I knew she had gathered her own knowledge, had connected the fragments of my lies to form the picture before her. Anne was always smarter than I.

"Do not question me," I snapped. It was all I could say and I hoped my tone might silence her.

But my wily Anne possesses the mind of a swift fox. Easily, she cut past my resistance. Her stony air disappeared at once. She rose from her chair and came to stand beside me. One hand found its way around my waist and she rested her head upon my shoulder.

"Cutler, do not pain me so," she said, her voice soft enough to make my heart twist.

"I do nothing of the sort."

"Yes, yes you do." And then with her free hand, she proceeded to stroke my chest, her hand pausing by my cravat and the uppermost button on my waistcoat. "I know you, darling. I know your mind and I know your thoughts. Something dark hangs over this house."

With difficulty, I slipped from Anne's hold and faced her.

"You should never believe me," I said after a moment of silence had passed. She tossed her head, her light hair flying across her shoulders.

"Nonsense."

"You do not understand," I continued. Her face grew determined.

"Of course I do, you wretch," she said and I was relieved to find her voice playful. "Do you think me simple?"

"No," I said. I found my way over to a chair and sat. Anne followed me, sinking into a chair of her own beside me. Her hands found mine and I felt her chilled flesh, her thin finger bones. "This is no matter for an intellectual."

"Then what?"

She was persistent, dreadfully so.

I battled my reason. Should I tell her? Should I disclose the full sordidness of my work in the Caribbean and the absolute madness that followed it?

In the end, my wife wanted to know and I could deny her nothing.

With a deep sigh, I leaned forward in my chair and found her eyes in the growing darkness. "Have you ever heard the tale of Davy Jones, dearest?"

I must say she took it rather well, though Anne always possessed a fiercely calm nature. She did pale, however and asked me many questions in a breathless voice. When I had finished, she stood rather shakily and walked to the hearth.

"The heart?" she asked. "Where is it?"

"Safe," I replied, rising and walking to her side. "Do not let it occupy your mind."

"No," Anne said. She shook her head and the light from the fire caused shadows to dance across her face. "No, I should not like to think of it."

She touched her hand to her swelling stomach and I felt my own gut twist. I had been honest with her and what was honesty if I did not reveal the whole truth?

I pulled her to me. My chin rested on the top of her head. Anne would not be pleased with me, but I knew it was only for the best.

"Fairest, I have sent for doctor. From England."

She started shaking then and I held her close.

"Dear God, Cutler." I heard the tears in her voice. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you are ill," I replied. Anne began to weep openly, pushing me away and sinking into the shadows.

"I am not ill!"

She was terrified, this I knew. Anne never cared for doctors and after her last experience with Carey, I doubted she would ever let another touch her.

"Now you lie," I said. I reached my hand out, hoping she would take it. But Anne recoiled further into the darkness and all I could hear were her broken sobs.

"He will hurt me, Cutler."

It tore my heart to hear her speak so.

"Anne, Anne," I whispered. Wading through the shadows I found her and pulled her back into the light of the fire. She wept against my shoulder, her breathing so harsh.

"I will not let him see me," she protested weakly. I stroked her hair.

"But you must," I said. "If only for the child. If only for the dear child."

Then she fell silent, save for her sobs. I held her for a long while as night closed in about us and we stood in single pool of light, surrounded all around by darkness.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	18. Anne: August 12, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eighteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **ElfLuver13**, **Tiera-Tarie**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

August 12, 1731

Dearest Diary,

A ship came in from England today, bearing both wretched news and a wretched personage. The news I shall speak on first, for it affects me little now that I dwell in the Caribbean. Still, it vexes me so.

Uncle has died. Harriet wrote to me, her letter detailing his end in simple words and simple thoughts. She did wish to further upset me, though I know she must grieve herself. Harriet was never opposed to Uncle but pretended to dislike him for my sake. She wrote saying that he had passed in an ordinary manner. The influenza took him and a fever. For three days he lay delirious and on the fourth he died. Now he is with my dear Aunt and Father. Let us hope he does not make them miserable.

My vexation, however, does not arise as a result of his passing. No, I am much too hard-hearted for that. Harriet spoke of the circumstances which now surround our Mother and I am not at all pleased.

Uncle, her brother, left Mother quite penniless. The family house (in which I spent my childhood years) was seized to pay his debts. Mother, once a lady of high degree, is now without a proper home. I care not, for after all she was so terribly cruel to Cutler and I. Let her wander about the streets of London as a pauper begging for pence. I would never help her.

But Harriet would.

My ever kind and generous sister took Mother into her home. I am most angry. Does Harriet not see the trickery she will employ? I do. Mother will turn her against me and soon my own sister will not trust in me. Harriet assured me of her love but I know better. I wrote to my sister and advised her against her ill-chosen course of action. With any luck, she will heed my warning and leave Mother in the care of some mutual friend. Or better yet, perhaps she will leave her be altogether.

Cutler tells me not to worry over such a matter but I cannot put it from my mind. Perhaps that is what has caused my sleepwalking. Five nights during these past two weeks, Cutler or some servant has caught me traversing the halls. I do not remember the incidents though my husband's wearied expression is enough to proof of these strange events. Scattered dreams follow me some nights, filled with bonfires and distant voices. It is all a blur now, not so clear as my dreams once were. I try to piece them together during my waking hours but such heavy meditation only serves to give me a headache.

Perhaps it has something to do with the haunting tale Cutler told me. I pray not, for his story was quite terrifying enough. I dare not write of it for my husband has warned me against it. Cutler begged me not to think on it and oh, I do try. I do so try!

The Caribbean does not seem quite so friendly as before.

Now I feel I must say something of the wretched personage who arrived today. I did not wish to see him, but again Cutler begged me. He seems to do a good deal of pleading these days, as a matter of fact.

My husband sent for one Doctor Hall to come from England to treat me. Cutler says he is well spoken of and has attended to the greatest members of the gentry. I wish he had stayed in England.

Doctor Hall came at once to our house from the ship, not even bothering to secure his lodgings first. I received him coldly though Cutler seemed overjoyed. It is not natural for a woman with child to be seen by a physician. Tradition dictates that such business belongs to women alone. I would even prefer to be seen by another incompetent midwife than this man. But there was little I could do.

Agnes complained heartily as well, for she has seen to my health during the recent months. Cutler believes it is both unwise and crude for a lady of standing to be treated by her maidservant. I did not argue the matter, though I am sure I could prove him wrong.

Doctor Hall is a strange sort of man. Quiet with wide eyes and a round face. I rather thought he looked like a young man but as it seems he is nearly fifty! Do my eyes deceive me or does he?

He came into my chamber (another matter of harsh impropriety I might add) and I made sure Agnes came with us. For a good while he examined me and often listened to the sound of my breathing. Often, he bade me cough and I did so, my lungs aching each time. He asked me if I had ever retched up blood and I said yes. This seemed to concern him greatly.

"The pallor of your skin suggests the advancement of the sickness," Doctor Hall said at one point. I sat on the edge of my chair with my fingers curled about the arms. He heaved a great sigh and looked at me sadly. "There is little to be done. I fear some of my treatments might be too difficult for the child to bear. If you survive the birth, then perhaps I might be able to ease your suffering…for a time."

Upon hearing this, Agnes burst into tears. I sent her from the room at once. It was a strange thing, indeed. Even though Doctor Hall seemed sure in my fate, I was not frightened, nor did I think I would die.

"You will tell my husband that you found me well," I said. Doctor Hall looked quite stunned.

"My lady, I cannot lie," he replied and I saw that he was not prepared to do so.

"If I am to die, then I will," I said. "There is no reason he should be forced to anticipate my end. Let him be happy for a time, if that is God's will."

And then Doctor Hall looked at me with respect in his eyes. He smiled and bowed his head.

"My lady is very brave."

I nodded. "A woman should be."

"Very well," he said. After a moment he stood, collecting his things and moving to the door. "I will say nothing to your husband, if that is your wish. But you must realize, he will expect some answer from you."

I said I understood and he left. For a long time I sat in my chamber and now I await my husband. He has not come to me yet and I _must_ think of something to tell him.

Dare I lie to him?

Footsteps. I hear footsteps on the stair.

Lady Anne Beckett


	19. Beckett: September 12, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter nineteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **Lyra Lupin**, **Tiera-Tarie**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 12, 1731

Log,

I have decided that we shall have a party. A grand party, with fireworks to light the sky and music to charm the heart. After all, we deserve some cheer on this Godforsaken spit of land.

It has all been arranged. All of Port Royal is caught up in the frenzy, no all of the Caribbean. Word has spread and a fortunate few have received coveted invitations. They all whisper. "What is doughty Lord Beckett plotting now? Already he has conquered the waves, does he now intend to make war upon the land with such a fuss?"

Ah, what great leader has not been blessed with such fanfare? Did the Greeks and old Romans enjoy their games and sport? Did they not languish away in green groves, drinking wine from gold goblets and striking the lyre?

I say I deserve such cheer as does Anne. Parties delight her so and I should do anything to see the flush return to her cheek and joyful light glint in her eyes. She is weary yes, but happy. Or so she says. The planning of the party has fixed her mind on merry things and she has not time to worry over what her sister does in England. Nor does she have time to sit in her chamber, thinking over matters that should not cross the mind even in the light of day.

She bears the burden of my secret now and the weight of our child. Oh, I fear it will be too much for her.

The days have not cooled but the nights are now gentle. A round moon sails in the skies often and I have taken to staying awake at all hours, lest I should catch Anne sleep-walking. She does not traverse the halls quite so much now that the doctor has.

Doctor Hall visits nearly three times a week. He speaks to me little and I find I have not the heart to question him. Anne looks well though, much better than she did when the consumption first ensnared her. She bustles about the house and sometimes (when I reluctantly permit it) goes to town.

Ornate decorations have been purchased. And delicacies. For what should a grand party be without a sumptuous table? Wine casks fill the cellar and all day long, young lads have been rolling them to and fro.

I suppose I should not remain locked away in my study for the festivities are set for tonight. There is a certain air of excitement-and danger pervading Port Royal. Admiral Norrington was quick to notice it, as always.

I simply do not know what to think of the man. He is most obedient, yet something keen and cautious brews in his gaze. Does he know a secret that I do not? Does he have some sordid plan of his own to overthrow me? The law-abiding citizens of the Caribbean seem to hold some sort of nostalgic affection for him. As does Anne.

I trust my wife, more than I trust myself in many ways. But Norrington, well, I can put no evil past him. I am reminded of hearty Agamemnon, sailing home from Troy only to be murdered by a usurper who had seduced his wife. Does this man intend to do the same to me?

I pray not. Anne would not let the fellow near her, at any rate. Her devotion has never wavered and I know she is capable of no disloyal wickedness.

Though perhaps it is her pity that troubles me. She pities this Norrington and I worry that she might indulge him in some manner. Were he to ask her a malicious favor, veiled with innocence, she might aid him.

I only hope that her swift and clever mind stays her hand.

As it is, I have invited Norrington to the party. It is expected and ever do I struggle to obey the sacred rules of propriety. But I also wish to keep the man close at hand. Every movement shall be watched, each word calculated and digested. I will let no evil befall my household this evening.

Despite my suspicions, I am happy in the knowledge that my business upon the waves moves along smoothly. Jones refuses no order I give him and Swann's infuriating protests have fallen silent. And no other reports of Elizabeth Swann have reached my ears. Perhaps she was just a phantom, riding upon the sea as a lovely ghost with no place in either Heaven or Hell.

My dreams, likewise, have ceased. Anne makes no mention of specters haunting her as well. Should I be convinced that it was all an effect of those wretched summer months? The heat is known to torment the mind. Could it in fact, account for our nightmares?

There is much chatter coming from the garden. Looking out the window I can see the servants hurrying about. Some stop to admire the grand fountain that has so recently been placed upon the lawn, nestled about by thick hedges and patches of bright flowers. Undoubtedly such a magnificent sight will be the talk of all the Caribbean. And on the morrow tongues will wag as to how Lord Beckett and his lovely wife are surely the most gracious hosts.

I only hope that we might have some merriment tonight and that all trouble should be cast off in favor of joy. But what is this certain feeling of foreboding that fills me? Why do I sense a tremulous stillness, as when a storm blows in and rocks the waves with its fury? Why does my mind turn to thoughts of peril?

Ah, perhaps it is the ill effect of excitement and nothing more. A fragment, a mirage upon the horizon that I cannot discern nor ever will.

It is nothing more than fancy.

Anne calls. The hour stretches toward the evening. I must dress.

Lord Cutler Beckett.


	20. Beckett: September 12, 1731 continued

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twenty of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, **Tiera-Tarie**, **Faith-Catherine**, **ElfLuver13**, **Miya Sparrow**, **anonymous**, **Astraeas Dreams**, **Lady Lithoniel**, **sudoku** and **anotherblastedromantic**. Well, that's quite a fair number of reviews. Thank you all so much! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 12, 1731

Log,

I finally have a spare moment to sit and write. And oh what a tremulous moment it is, filled with dark promises and half-conceived thoughts that terrify me. My office is dark and I have not called for the servants to build a fire in the stone hearth. No, I write by moonlight alone.

It is mild tonight and the wind cries. Perhaps a storm rises to the south, bringing with it cold air and rain and lightening to split the heavens with God's wrath. The palm trees shiver outside and waves lick the shores.

From the long window I can see half a dozen ships lining the harbor. They sit upon the water in a grim line, sentries with languid sails and tall, silent masts. We wait, all of us, with a prayer upon our lips and vain hope blazing in our hearts.

Perhaps it was all just a rumor stirred up by the sea.

I never expected the evening to unfold in such a manner. In fact, as Anne and I entered the great ballroom to greet out guests, I imagined the night would be one to remember.

Well, I shall remember it, during the dark hours when nightmares stalk the world.

But I digress. My pen trips and gallops over the page without any sense or reason. I must compose myself and record the events as they happened. Perhaps generations from now, my thoughts will be kept for posterity's sake. Ah, but I am no Marcus Aurelius.

This evening, Anne and I hosted a grand dance and dinner for members of the Caribbean's gentry. I do not possess the mind to describe the affair at length, so I shall be short.

The gala started precisely at eight, when the sky was dark enough to display the fireworks. Our company of guests arrived on time and as each carriage snaked up the drive, light and color bloomed in the heavens over the harbor.

This caused great delight and awe amongst the ladies and gentlemen. Anne and I stood just inside the door, her hand upon my arm as we watched the fireworks shriek and burst.

"Oh, Cutler," she whispered and her gaze was fixed upon the sky. "Oh, they are so lovely. So beautiful."

I found I could not take my eyes from her, as she stood there with the bright light upon her face. She looked ethereal, I thought. Perhaps like the Greek goddesses Homer so earnestly wrote of. Or the Nymphs that dwell in mountain streams with their songs and happy play amongst the foam.

But oh, she was nothing short of magnificent, draped in a grey silk gown with her hair pinned up and powdered. And for one brief, joyful moment, I imagined that she was not ill and that we were home in England, away from this wretched place. I imagined that all was well and would be forever, and that we should live in serene happiness for the rest of our years.

Yet then the fireworks died and Anne looked towards the guests. I realized at once that we still stood on our doorstep in Caribbean, on the edge of the very world with nothing but the merciless sea at our feet. I wish it were not so.

It took quite a while for the guests to assemble inside. Each woman fawned over another and they swished their skirts until the whole ballroom sounded full of dry leaves being blown about by the wind. I marveled at how easily Anne moved among them. She chatted politely with some and greeted others with the utmost courtesy.

I saw Admiral Norrington standing at the far end of the room, but fortunately (for his sake) his eyes did not follow Anne. Instead, he engrossed himself in conversation with several Navy officers. I offered him a terse "good evening" as I passed and he bowed.

Shortly after the ladies and gentlemen had settled themselves into the ballroom, the musicians were called up to play. A lively minuet opened the festivities. Anne and I shared the first dance as was expected. Small cakes and cold meats and other little delicacies were brought about by our livered servants.

The guests ate and drank thick red wine. I had not an appetite suitable for the former, but I did fold to several glasses of that superb libation that now renders my mind so foggy. Anne seemed too excited for anything quite so dull as eating and drinking. She left my side and spoke with her good friend Lady Jane for a long time.

The evening promised to be grand. By the time dinner was announced, most of our guests proclaimed it to be the most sumptuous and elegant affair they had ever attended. I suppose that is not saying much now, considering our position in the Caribbean so far from England, but such a compliment will have to do.

I had meant to escort Anne into the lavish dining room, but before I could leave the ballroom, Admiral Norrington came to me.

"My Lord Beckett." There was something decidedly terrifying about his tone and my spine stiffened as he spoke.

"Yes, what is it now?" I tried to appear haughty and impatient. Norrington stared at me with a sober expression, though something troublesome darkened his light eyes.

"I have been informed of a...problem in the harbor, your lordship." His hesitation shocked me. With a feigned smile, I waded through the rising sea of guests and brought him out to an empty balcony.

"What manner of problem?"

He did not speak, but rather extended his arm to the right and pointed down to the ocean. I glanced over my shoulder and my heart dropped.

The _Flying Dutchman _was anchored in the harbor, resplendent beneath the moonlight in all her gruesome glory.

"Dear God." I clutched the stone railing that guarded the balcony. For a long moment, Norrington and I looked out over the water. He stood there with such stoic indifference that I wished to throttle him.

"Is this your doing?" It was more of an accusation that a question, but he bore it just the same.

"No, my lord, Not at all. I have only just discovered it myself."

Jones was under specific orders _not _to enter the harbor. Was mutiny in his heart this night?

I departed for the docks immediately, leaving a message for Anne stating that necessary business forced me away. I also ordered all the servants to shut the great windows overlooking the sea, lest a curious guest see a sight not meant for any eyes.

Mr. Mercer arranged for a longboat to row me out to the _Dutchman_ and as I climbed up onto the deck, I felt little fear. Anger overrode any terror that might trouble my heart. I managed to overlook the haunting appearance of the vessel and Jones' ghastly crew that huddled about.

I went straight to the Captain. He was lounging by the side rail with little concern.

"Bloody hell, what is the meaning of this?" I demanded of him. "Bringing this…this abomination into the harbor. Have you no sense? Do you dare to disobey the direct order I gave you?"

Jones did not speak at once, but chewed over his pipe with a thoughtful expression. I was sorely tempted to drive a dagger through his heart right then and there.

"I thought you'd like to know, my lord," he said at last. A puff of smoke escaped from his mouth. "The Black Pearl has been sighted, not too far from Port Royal. I cast off and hurried back to tell you. What are my orders?"

I thought I had gone mad. I stared at the creature, my stomach churning and bile rising up to my lips.

"That is impossible," I said at length.

"Tell that to Jack Sparrow who I saw at the helm," he replied.

I still could not believe it.

After my shock had ebbed sufficiently, I ordered my men about. Jones I sent out of the harbor once more and along with a small little vessel, sent to bear news to any of my other ships that were still riding the waves. The rest I had blockade the harbor. None are to be allowed in or out and at the sight of any ship, they are to raise the alarm.

The guests are still dancing in my ballroom and from my office, I can hear the sweet music. Oh I imagine dear Anne, lovely and sweet. Oh would that I could be with her now.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	21. Norrington: September 13, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twenty-one of "Rubicon". Poor Norrington is finally having his say in this diary entry. I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter **ElfLuver13**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **anonymous**, **jla1snoopy**, **anotherblastedromantic **and **Astraeas Dreams**. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 13, 1731

Journal,

Dawn has come. From the ramparts of the Fort, one can see the first light touch the horizon and then follow the slow course of the sun as it rises, heavenward.

There is no sun today, none that I can see, at least. A sharp wind carried in the clouds sometime during the night and now they float over the harbor, silent, grim. I wait for the storm.

Far-off, there is a rumble in the sky and lightening touches the sea. I have never known thunderstorms to come in the morning hours. In the late afternoon, yes, when the heat of the day boils over into streams of rain. But never in the morning.

Ah, but I am forgetting now. I _did _witness one storm that came just before dawn and seemed to last a lifetime. It was no thunderstorm though, but a hurricane. I shan't talk of that now.

The night has passed and I do not know whether to be glad for it or not. It was a wretched night, for the most part, with only a glimpse of starlight that was soon swept away by despair. And by the end of it all, I realized what a horrid man I truly am. I deserve to lie cringing in the gutters of Tortuga.

Poor Lady Beckett, I almost killed her.

Of course, the blame could be misconstrued and Lord Beckett has seen fit to pin it all on Elizabeth Swann and that witch, Tia Dalma. I rather think I should go to the gallows, for unknowingly I led dear Lady Anne into the embrace of danger and violence.

I should have done more.

My mind gallops along and I am so dreadfully tired. But I feel I must offer my account of the event while it is still fresh in my mind. Soon the whole incident shall come under scrutiny and Lord Beckett will doubtless wish to hear what I have to say.

He will want me to provide the necessary testimony to hang Elizabeth Swann. Dear God, I am weeping.

Steady man, steady. I may write with a shaking hand, but I must steady my thoughts. Now where to begin? Ah yes, the party.

Lord Beckett had departed before supper was served. He went down to the harbor to meet with Jones, or so Mr. Mercer later told me. I should have accompanied him, but I did not. Whilst he ran about, distracted, I slipped away and took dinner with the company of guests.

And so with the _Dutchman_ bobbing along the waves, hidden from view by only thin wooden shutters, I dined. I laughed, I jested and I indulged in small talk with the gentry. For one single moment, I pretended that this torrid world was not mine. I hid behind a pantomime's mask and like an actor, played my role well.

Not one man suspected the dire predicament that swept over Port Royal. The ladies giggled and batted their fans about, sipping on claret. And dear Lady Beckett seemed to heighten the merry-making with her smiles and polite chatter.

I was greatly pleased with the farce, for in the end it was nothing but a lie that I should pretend to be Lord Beckett, comfortable and untouched by lifetime of woe.

And as I sat there, I thought of Beckett, arguing with Jones perhaps or holed up in his office like a fox in a musty den.

I wanted to enjoy his happy life, for once.

But soon the supper ended and the company spilled into the ballroom. I felt awkward and hovered by the door as couples formed and pair off. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Beckett drifting about.

Something tugged at my heart and soon I was overwhelmed with emotion. Poor little creature. At times she seemed so frail, but I knew better.

Strength grew within her and filled her with such a grace, such an ease I had not yet seen in a woman.

Perhaps in Elizabeth Swann, yes, but in no other woman.

My admiration for Lady Beckett seems to know no bounds, as does my respect. Quiet dignity touches her eyes and when she smiles, I sense she is truly happy and feigns no emotion.

Ah, that such a woman should be Lord Beckett's.

But I am no base man. I am not lecherous. Honor I can remember, yes. I treat Lady Beckett with honor.

And so, with honor, I approached her and bowed.

"My lady, are you well? You seem so overwhelmed."

She stared at me with soft eyes and touched a finger to her lip. "Ah, Admiral, I am quite glad to see you. It seems that my husband has been called away. He left me only a hasty note. Do you know what all this business is about?"

"No, my lady," I lied, but the lie was for her own good. She need not know of the terror that haunted the harbor. "But might I help you with something?"

Lady Beckett looked about. Most of the guests were lost to the music and they danced so gaily that my heart swelled and I thought to ask Lady Beckett for a single minuet. She, however, grasped my arm and led me off to the side.

"I feel some tremendous need, sir, to look in upon my little son," she said. Tenderness was in her gaze and it made me smile. I did not question her, for a mother knows best.

"Will you keep the guests occupied until I return? I shan't be long."

"Of course," I said. She seemed assured and I led her to the foot of the stairs. Perhaps I should have gone directly into the ballroom then, as promised, but I lingered.

Slowly she seemed to ascend the long staircase and when she had only gone halfway, the poor woman stopped and put a hand to her breast.

For a moment, I thought Lady Beckett might faint. Her face went pale.

"My lady!" I hurried up the stairs as any gentleman should and took her arm in mine. "Please, let me assist you."

She did not protest, her breath coming hard as her chest rose and fell. I immediately averted my eyes from her soft, white skin that glistened with just a hint of sweat. Together, we ascended and I looked once over the banister to see if anyone followed our progress with their eyes. Fortunately, no one had noticed our departure.

When we had reached the very top of the stairs, Lady Beckett released my arm and sat in a chair that was just a short way down the corridor.

"Oh," she said, still panting. Her head she rested against the wall. "Oh, I am not so strong as I once was. Perhaps I am getting old."

I laughed or tried to. "My lady, you cannot be much older than twenty!"

"Two and twenty," she said. "But such times wear on a soul. I fear I am worn out already."

"Nonsense," I said and soon I found myself kneeling by her side. "Such a fire burns within you. No woman that possesses such wit and bravery could ever wither and die."

"I assure you, sir, I am quite mortal." And here the poor lady buried her head in her hands and began to weep.

Of course, I had not expected such a reaction, but I was prepared. I presented her with my handkerchief and she accepted it, gratefully, dabbing at her swollen eyes until her tears subsided.

"You must forgive me," Lady Beckett said. "These past few months have tried me greatly and I am weary."

"You need not ask my pardon," I said. She looked at me and laughed.

"I must see to my son, sir, for I fear those bumpkins below stairs will concoct some vicious rumor, if any did chance to see us depart together. And oh lah! Here we have been discussing burning fires and mortality."

I smiled, but a noise from within the nursery soon froze a frown upon my lips.

"What could that have been?" Lady Beckett asked. She rose and pushed open the nursery door. "Agnes? Are you about, dear? I have only come up for a moment."

She stepped into the room and unable to stop myself, I followed. Oh, I shall never forget the scene that unfolded before my very eyes. How horrid!

There beneath a silken stream of moonlight stood Elizabeth Swann and that Caribbean witch. I halted, a gasp shooting past my teeth. Lady Beckett did likewise and her hand flew to her lips.

They must have climbed through the window, I am convinced, for Elizabeth was just putting her right leg on the floor and closing the shutters.

"This used to be my chamber," she said breathlessly, then caught sight of Lady Beckett and I.

A moment of awful silence stretched before us. I noted that Elizabeth looked much the same, still beautiful even in her sailor's clothes. Dirt smudged her cheeks and grease coated her soft hair, hidden beneath a tricorn.

The witch stood in the shadows and I could not make much of her.

Suddenly, Lady Beckett uttered a shrill cry.

"Away! Away!" she shrieked. "Away from my child!" Only then did I realize that Elizabeth and the witch stood close to the low cradle. The baby began to cry.

The witch raised her hands as if to speak, but Lady Beckett rushed forward, whether to grab her son or push past the intruders, I could not tell.

And Elizabeth, oh darling Elizabeth with whom I used to dance and dine, pushed her to the ground.

It was a reflexive move, I am convinced and one not meant to cause much harm. But Lady Beckett, being already heavy with child and ill, fell to the ground hard. She rolled over once, clutched her large abdomen and then began to moan.

I do not know what I should have done then, had Lord Beckett not walked in.

Ah, I can write no more, the thing grieves me so!

Admiral James Norrington


	22. Beckett: September 15, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twenty-two of "Rubicon". I think this is probably the most tragic chapter in this story, though I promise you, Anne will not die! I would like to thank everyone who read and commented on the last chapter, **Faith-Catherine**, **OllieOfFreeOxen**, **ElfLuver13**, **Tiera-Tarie**, and **Astraeas Dreams**. Thank you all! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 15, 1731

Log,

It is night, late night. Past midnight perhaps or so I guess. I cannot sleep, nor do I wish to. Instead, I sit in my office and watch the shadows that rise up off the harbor. They seem to shriek, though I know it to be only a trick of the wild wind that rushes over Port Royal. Sails batter about and flap like many-winged gulls. I cannot sleep but for the commotion of it all…and the heartbreak.

Oh, I should go to Anne, but she will not have me. She has been broken, poor woman, my poor wife and death is nigh, so the doctor has said. He is with her now along with the maid Agnes. May they bring her more comfort than I ever could.

What a tragedy.

Even now I feel tears upon my cheeks, though I hurry to brush them away. I try to muster some sense of reality and place it upon this parchment before me, something defined and permanent. But I have few words to detail the dreadful series of events. It is a curse, I am convinced, a curse that has descended upon me. Or so dear Anne said when I last spoke with her.

I shall try to recount what I can, in hopes that I might look back upon this some years from now, when I know nothing more but smiles and laughter and the green of England. It happened thusly.

Having set the ships in order in the harbor and taken leave of Jones, I returned to my office for a short while last night. But I could not stay long, nor could I keep myself away from Anne. I worried after her, as she danced and dined and entertained the guests at our home.

Impulsively, I set off on my own, leaving my office on foot. It is not so great a distance from my house to the building by the docks and I walked rather quickly, with the light of a faint moon above.

No one was about. Save one slumbering drunkard who slept inside a doorway. Music I could hear, grand music that brushed the warm air and lightened my heart. At last, I came up the drive and passed by an array of stately carriages and horses. I do not know if any of the servants standing about recognized me, but they said nothing and let me pass.

Into the house I went, pulling my hat far down over my brow. I felt the need for secrecy and feared questions. No, I only wished to see Anne.

I navigated the foyer easily enough and came to the foot of the staircase. It was dark in the upstairs corridor, I noticed. Only the good Lord knows why I felt such a strong need to look in upon my little son. That was the only stroke of good fortune I had.

Not one of the guests noticed my ascent up the steps and I walked quietly, lest I should disturb the rest of my little child. When I came to the corridor, however, I heard some noise. A gasp and a cry and something that made my blood run cold.

Without a thought, I pushed open the door and stepped inside the nursery. Faint moonlight fell through the window, just enough to light the chamber and reveal Anne, lying upon the floor. Norrington stood by her side and he knelt down at once, trying to help her up. But Anne only groaned and fell against his knee.

"What have you done?" the man growled. I realized two other women stood in the room; Elizabeth Swann and the witch.

I felt ill…and enraged.

"I had no knowing, James," Elizabeth Swann whispered. She looked like a ruffian in her boy's clothing. "None at all."

The witch suddenly stepped forward and stood over Anne, with a curious leer upon her painted lips.

"That be Beckett's woman," she said. Her hand hovered in the air, as if she wanted to touch Anne but could not bring herself to. "Poor creature."

Then Anne screamed and Norrington had his arms around her shoulders. "Help!" she cried. "Oh! The baby has come too soon!"

Something awoke within me then and I charged into the room.

"Marines!" I bellowed. "Where are the marines? Arrest them!"

My cry was heeded and almost an entire company pounded up the stairs. They seized Swann and the witch rather roughly, though not before the villains had something to say.

"Scum!" Elizabeth spat in my face. "Rot in Hell, Beckett, along with your wife."

I wanted to slap her, but managed to restrain myself. To my surprise, the witch scolded Swann.

"Don't be damning none to hell," she said in a gentle voice. "Lest none that are innocent."

And they were led from the room.

I knelt by Anne's side and glared at Norrington. He was staring at me with wide, terrified eyes as Anne writhed in his grasp.

"Benighted fool!" I said and pushed the man away. "Send for the doctor, at once!"

He left, flying out of the room as though the devil himself were at his heels. There was a commotion downstairs and servants came to the door.

"Send the guests away," I ordered, scooping poor Anne into my arms. She wept in pain. I carried her at once to our chamber and laid her upon the bed. The doctor arrived shortly after, along with the maid Agnes.

I stayed as he examined Anne. Fear made my gut churn and I thought I should retch.

"She labors already," Doctor Hall said at last. Agnes clapped her hands to her mouth. "It is too soon, too soon."

"Too soon! Too soon!" Anne moaned. "Dear God, the babe!"

"We must do what we can," Doctor Hall said.

Norrington came in then and when he caught sight of Anne, his face went white.

"The prisoners have been taken to the Fort," he said. "What would have me do with them?" His voice shook so that I could barely understand him.

Before I could speak, however, Doctor Hall stood.

"My lord, go along and see to business," he said. "There is nothing you can do here, nothing at all. I will send word if anything changes."

I hesitated, but the Doctor was insistent, along with Norrington.

"You will only serve to get underfoot," Hall continued. Norrington took me by the arm.

"I cannot leave her," I said weakly and looked to Anne. She seemed beyond me then, her eyes shut tight and her hands fisted in the sheets. Dear God, my poor wife.

"Take him, Admiral," Hall said and I was dragged from the room. I cannot condemn the Doctor for his actions. It was for the best, of course, that I should leave, though my mind seemed to tell me otherwise at the time.

Shaking off Norrington, I went to the Fort and for a brief moment, anger overrode my fear. Norrington said nothing along the way and as soon as we had arrived, I ordered him to fetch both the prisoners.

They were brought into an office while I paced before the desk, unable to sit still for the briefest moment. Elizabeth Swann entered first, as sharp and brazen as ever. She promptly spit upon my boots.

I remembered Anne then, lying on the floor in pain. My hand cut across her face.

She did not cry out or even recoil, which infuriated me all the more. Norrington stood in the corner and his fists were clenched.

"Out!" I ordered and he left. Several marines remained.

The witch stood beside Swann. Her name is Tia Dalma, or so I was informed and I found I could not look her in the eye. She seemed to see things I would rather keep hidden and as I probed Swann with questions, I felt as though I in turn was being interrogated.

"Where is Sparrow?" I asked first. Swann raised a brow.

"He is dead. I thought you should know that at the very least."

"Not dead," I said. "We have had reports."

She shrugged.

"Where is the _Pearl_," I asked next.

"Sunk," she said.

"Not sunk," I replied. "We have had reports."

Another shrug.

The witch began to hum quietly to herself, a tune that made me tremble and sweat. I had heard that tune before…and I had seen her before.

In my dreams, that is. Oh God, I have gone mad.

"Why have you come to Port Royal?" I asked. I could no longer stand, my legs shook and I sat in a chair behind the desk.

"To see my father," Swann said. But there was a lie behind her eyes which I caught.

"He is dead," I replied, hoping that I finally had the upper hand. Now she trembled.

"Never mind that now," Tia Dalma said. She patted Swann on the arm, as much as her shackles would allow. "He isn't dead."

"Silence!" I shouted. But she turned to look at me with all-seeing eyes.

"And your wife, it's consumed her."

I was one my feet in an instant then, all restrain abandoned and forgotten. "I know what you are!" I screamed. "I have seen you! I know the tricks you play. Too long have you haunted my wife and I!"

And as I was shouting, I heard another cry. A woman screamed in the hall. The sound took my legs from me once more and I fell into the chair. Agnes, the maid, burst into the room with two soldiers behind her.

"Dead! Dead!" she screeched. Tears fell down her cheeks.

"Anne?" I asked brokenly. Agnes shook her head.

"The baby, stillborn!"

My world collapsed. Agnes fell to the floor and began to pray aloud.

"Lord Beckett?" And then Norrington was at the door. I turned away so they would not see me cry.

"Take the prisoners away," I said and my voice no longer seemed to be mine, but some separate entity that now inhabited me. "I must go to my wife."

As soon as Swann and the witch had been led from the room, I fled the Fort. Through the streets I ran, until I was pounding up the drive of my own house. The door was ajar and a servant stood outside, holding a candle.

"My lord," he tried to speak to me but I pushed him away. Up the stairs I went and into our chamber where Anne lay on bloodied sheets.

Doctor Hall stepped aside for me and Anne looked up. Her face had nearly no life in it.

"Anne," I was sobbing then.

"Please, Cutler," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You must destroy it."

"What?" I stared at her. Had delirium taken her already?

"The heart," she continued. "Please, it has destroyed us. Be done with it."

And then her head lolled to the side and she slept. I remember little of what happened afterwards. Doctor Hall tried to speak to me, but I could not hear what he said. I left Anne's bed and the chamber and the house, too much of a coward to be by my wife's side.

I do not want to see her die.

I returned to my office and here I sit, waiting. What has it all been for, I wonder? Another day has passed. The sun has risen and set. And what has it all been for?

My thoughts are with Anne and now I think to go to her. I must have some strength, for I must…

I hear cannon fire…

Lord Cutler Beckett


	23. Anne: September 15, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Three of "Rubicon". I am afraid this is a rather short chapter, but I promise the next one will definitely make up for it. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and those that reviewed, **Kitty**, **ElfLuver13**, **Tiera-Tarie** and **Astraeas Dreams**. Thank you all so much! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 15, 1731

Dearest Diary,

There is misery in a life such as this, a life that waits only for death and nothing more. A life that faces the eternal darkness with resignation, not fear. A life that has been lived and now falls away like a dried up leave tugged by an unforgiving wind.

Doctor Hall tells me I am dying. He says my lungs are spent and my body is broken and I must make my peace with God. Am I foolish not to believe him?

I do not feel the coldness of death or pain. I am fatigued, yes, but nothing more. Each breath enters my lungs and leaves. Each star in the sky catches my eye.

But oh, do I wish to live on?

I think I must truly be weak, a woman who can be counted on for little. It is said that those of the fair sex are meant only to bear children and I have failed at such a task. My little babe, my little daughter, she did not even cry when Doctor Hall took her into his arms, oh, she was already dead.

I do not remember much of the birth and I am glad for it. There was pain, that I know and then Agnes' weeping as she told me the child was stillborn. And then there was Cutler, who came to my bedside only to draw away like a shadow. He has not returned since.

I wonder if he does not love me now, if he hates the wife who would die for him and probably shall. I miss him and wish for him. If only he were here to share my last tears!

But I am alone, lying upon my bed with only my diary and a quill pen. There must be a record of my last hours, if I am to die. Cutler must know that my last thoughts were of him and our young son and lifeless daughter.

News has come to me in my sanctuary. Agnes says Elizabeth Swann and the second woman, Tia Dalma will be hanged. Cutler has decreed it and the gallows stand silent in their vigil, waiting for the noose to swing and claim another victim. Governor Swann and Admiral Norrington have both tried to plea for Elizabeth's life. My husband will not relent, for he believes Elizabeth has murdered me though I live yet. I would go to him…and I would speak for the woman, at least to delay her death until I have learned the full of it. And I would learn of the other woman, so familiar she is to me.

Last night I slept and did not dream. And upon waking, I remembered the face that had so haunted me over the months, the voice that would whisper charms. Tia Dalma is the woman from my dreams, the wild-haired witch who drove her dagger into my throat and let the sea wash me away.

I do not fear her and I do not think she is altogether evil. There is some mystery in this yet. In fact, I should like to have a moment with the woman, to ask her if she had orchestrated my dreams for some dark purpose and what she meant by them. But now I suppose I shall never know.

It is night now and from the bed I can just see out the window. Agnes wished to draw the shutters and curtains, but I would not let her. I should like to see the moon and the ebony sky, for what dearer sight is there for one who now tastes mortality at last? A strange thing it is, this death. Young as I am I never anticipated it, even when illness crept over me and strangled my breath from me. And here now I stand, at my end. Or do I?

Poor Cutler. I feel that either way I have lost him. This place has destroyed him along with that cursed entity, that heart. Slowly, I watched him slip from me, as though we stood on a great precipice. But which one of us shall fall, I do not know. I love my husband and shall love him for the rest of eternity, even within the cold clay bower of my tomb.

I think of my son now and some horrible fear convinces me he will be an orphan. Will Cutler lose himself if I should die and neglect my dear child? Will my son reach maturity with none to guide him save lowly servants and the dim memory of his mother that once lived?

No, no, it is too much. Too much to think of and too much to bear.

There is a sound outside the window, something akin to a thunder clap. Agnes is not here and I can only see the very tip of the harbor. A flame and a flash covers the horizon. What could this be…?

My God, it is cannon fire. I am sure of it. And even as I write a black ship with black sails slinks into the harbor. I can see the line of naval ships and those belonging to the Company. So desperately they return the volley, but to no avail. Oh, what is this?

More ships, more sails…more pirate flags. Port Royal is under attack. Gunpowder fills the air and the stench is near unbearable. Have I died and come to Hell instead of Heaven?

I have called for Agnes and she has not come. The house is dreadfully quiet. Where is Doctor Hall? Where are the servants?

I must find Cutler….

Lady Anne Beckett


	24. Beckett: October 1, 1731

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Four of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and those that reviewed, **Kitty** and **Tiera-Tarie**. Thank you both! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

October 1, 1731

Log,

I am locked away in a box. A small cabin that is, on a small ship heading for England. The air still shimmers with the heat of the Caribbean though and my brow is damp. Through the window I can see little other than the blue ocean and a few white clouds. The sun mocks me with its brilliance.

Two weeks have passed since the end of it all. For a long time I had not the heart to revisit those dark events, but this morning Anne asked me (in her ever soft manner) to record what has happened. She mumbled something of posterity and said that ours was not failure, but happy victory. We have escaped with our lives, she reminded me and most of our fortune. But my wife forgets that our reputation is in tatters and that Port Royal has fallen to Jack Sparrow. God damn him to Hell.

All was still chaos when I left, the harbor destroyed and some of the town in ruins. Sparrow left it that way, sailing away with his cursed black ship and bedraggled crew. And when he left my empire collapsed beneath me. I could only hope for a safe return to England.

There is much to say on the matter, though I admit that most of it confuses me. I know only a little of what occurred. I know that my fleet was ruined. I know that Jones was destroyed. I know that Swann and Tia Dalma were freed. And I know that Jack Sparrow tried to kill me.

I do not know, however, why he was merciful. Perhaps Anne would be so good as to tell me, for she had a hand in it.

Therefore, I shall speak on what I know and relate it to the fullest. Then I might hope for the memory to dull and terrible sting of loss to lessen.

It happened on the night of September the Fifteenth, when I sat in my office awaiting some black doom. From the harbor, I heard the sound of cannon fire and rushed to the window. A ship rode the waves, with black sails pulled high and taut against the wind. I recognized the vessel, of course, for who could mistake the _Black Pearl_?

My heart turned over in my breast and I paced the balcony like some wild beast, growling and cursing as my ships, my very own ships were assaulted. Behind the _Pearl _I saw several other pirate vessels, small, scrawny, but surprisingly nimble.

One by one my ships listed and not until I received word from Admiral Norrington did I comprehend the disaster. He found his way to my office, somehow, only to report the staggering defeat.

The great bulk of my fleet, he said, had been destroyed upon the sea by an armada of pirate ships. When I inquired as to the _Flying Dutchman_, Norrington could only shake his head and sigh.

It seems that we were tricked, cruelly tricked. While Elizabeth Swann and the witch, Tia Dalma caused a disruption with their arrival, that wily Will Turner found his way to the heart.

"Destroyed," Norrington said. And he leaned upon my desk in his soiled uniform, sweat beading his brow. "Along with Jones and his crew…and the ship."

I overturned the winged chair by the fireplace and threw all the items off the mantle. Norrington only slumped against the desk, his head bowed. The cannons thundered and caused the heavens to rumble as though God himself were descending from his throne.

"What are we to do?" I asked and my mind raced. "There must be some defense. Empty the Fort of soldiers, guard the wharves, stop Sparrow before he even reaches the shore."

Norrington looked through the long windows. The mast of the _Emperor_, a lordly ship, snapped and crashed into the waters.

"No, Beckett. It is over," he whispered and would say no more. I called for Mercer, but he did not come. Later, I learned that he met his end when the _Pearl _docked and her crew tore through the streets.

Panic bewildered me and I fought the urge to succumb to it. What to do?

Then I thought of Anne and our son and realized we must flee. Reaching safety we might regroup and recover, we might launch an attack of our own.

"My wife and child," I said to Norrington. "I must go to my wife and child."

Norrington looked at the harbor and then at me doubtfully. Pirates were pouring onto the streets, the sound musketry crackling in the air as the marines fired volley after volley to no avail.

"Sparrow is coming for you, you know," Norrington said. "You shall never make it out alive."

"We must try!"

"We?" Norrington looked at me, his eyes wide and a certain stunned expression on his face. "You assume, sir, that I shall be so good as to aid you again? I did it once, yes and now I curse the very day I laid the heart upon your desk. It has all been for naught and I have not found the life I once had. No sir, I have lingered on in much sorrow and guilt, the pawn of a foolish little man who would have been wise to stay in England."

He paused and took a great breath. "I was noble once sir, and believed in something greater than I, an attainable glory and green laurels. But all that has been swept from me and any chance of redeeming myself is gone. I can only hope, sir, for an honorable death."

Admiral Norrington then took out his sword and pressed the point against his breast. I understood what he meant to do, but made no move to stop him. He sighed, mumbled something that sounded like "Elizabeth, I am sorry" and made to fall upon his sword.

But the door to my office swung open and in flew a man with a red handkerchief about his brow.

"Sparrow!" I cried. His pistol was against my throat in a flash and he had me up against the wall.

"Beckett," he said with a sparkling smile. His rancid breath made me gag. "Thought you'd never see me again? Though I was dead, eh? Well, I was. But that is quite a story in itself and I won't waste it on the likes of you."

"James!" Elizabeth Swann was in the room next, followed by Will Turner and the witch and some stocky man I did not know.

Norrington dropped his sword. "Elizabeth," he all but sobbed. Yet then he regained his composure, tearing open his waistcoat to reveal his white shirt. "You had best shoot me now. Yes, go on. If there were any to take my life from me, it would be you."

Turner fingered his pistol but Sparrow shook his head, the beads in his hair clicking together. "None of that now. We've only come here to shoot one man." The barrel of his pistol was now shoved against my breast. "Ain't that right, mate?"

"Sparrow," I muttered. "Before you…before…"

"Think you might be able to bargain your way out of this?" he asked and there was a wild glint in his dark eyes, an unnatural light that caused my breathing to quicken. "It's a right fine mess you've created. What with the _Dutchman _and Jones sailing all about the Caribbean doing your bidding. And you've sunk a good deal of the Brethren's ships. Quite vexed they are, quite vexed. I am wondering though, what sort of excuse you might have?"

He paused for a moment and waited for me to speak and oh, for the life of me I could not. There was nothing to say, except that I had done the right thing by providing the Company and England with safe trade routes and a regulated sea. And of course, Sparrow would find no good in that and in the end, I resigned myself to a silent death.

"No one here will speak for you, eh?" Sparrow said and he seemed amused by it. "Will you at least tell me how it feels to watch your little empire go up in flames and cannonade and cutlass? Stings, I bet."

"My legacy will live on," I said. Sparrow laughed.

"See, I never quite understood what you lordly men meant by legacy. Suppose I never will." He cocked his pistol. I shut my eyes and thought of dear Anne and our son. Oh, poor young Cutler would be an orphan.

"Jack!" I was surprised to hear Elizabeth speak.

"Not now, lass," he said.

"Jack, I hear…Jack, I hear someone in the hall!"

"Soldiers." Turner said. I heard him cross to the door and then someone yelled.

"Cutler! Cutler, where are you?"

Anne.

I forced open my eyes. "Wait, please you mustn't…my wife…" I would not be shot before Anne and I would not have the horrid image haunt her for her final minutes upon this earth.

The door swung open and Turner leapt back, his sword at the ready. For a moment I thought he might run my wife through. Anne tripped through the door, her long white nightgown billowing behind her. She had naught but a blue cloak upon her shoulders and her hair was wild.

"Stand fast!" Turner ordered. He gripped her upper arm. Anne fought against him.

"Release me, sir!" she cried. "I am but a day out of childbed. You shan't be so rough with me!"

Turner seemed shocked. He loosened his hold on her arm just slightly and Anne twisted free, panting and coughing all at once. I thought she should drop dead right then and there. Her skin was milk-white and her eyes round. And yet she held herself upright, ever the gracious lady.

Norrington addressed her at once. "Anne, go away from this place. Do not linger here."

She ignored him, turning about and catching sight of me at once. Sparrow still had his pistol pressed to my throat.

"No!" she shrieked and launched herself at the pirate. "No!"

Both Turner and Elizabeth grasped my wife's shoulders. She fell to her knees. "No, you mustn't! Dear God, sir, please!"

"Who is she?" Sparrow jerked his head in Anne's direction.

"Beckett's wife," Elizabeth mumbled. The stocky man with grey hair shook his head.

"Bless me!" he said. "A fine looking filly for such a little rascal."

"Leave her be," I growled, desperately fighting against Sparrow's hold.

He offered me a wicked smile. "I'd stay still if I were you. There's little stopping me from blowing out your brains this minute."

"No!" Anne shrieked.

Norrington stepped forward. "Let this one go, Sparrow," he said in a calm voice. "She is an innocent and nothing more. Let this one go."

"As if we would spare either of them on your word," Turner spat.

"Hush." Tia Dalma was perched by the door, with a hand upon her hip. She stared at Sparrow. "Jack," she said and that was all.

Sparrow frowned. "Watch him, Will," he ordered. And soon Turner was standing before me, his sword pressed to my stomach. Sparrow paced before Anne.

"What's your name, lass?"

My wife raised her chin. "Lady Anne Beckett."

"Pretty name," he said with a small jiggle of his head. "I once knew an Anne, but she was nothing more than a whore. You don't look like a whore, lass."

Anne's eyes narrowed. "Not at all."

"Now what is a lovely little young lady like yourself doing here?" Sparrow asked. He leaned forward and peered into her eyes. Anne did not flinch.

"I have come to find my husband," she answered.

"This here man?" Sparrow pointed at me.

"Yes, my husband."

"And why did you come to find your husband?"

Anne did not reply at once. She studied Sparrow for a long minute, then tilted her head to the side. "I am guessing, sir, that you must be Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Well now look at that!" Sparrow waved his pistol about. "She got me name right. Never expected to hear such from a _Beckett_."

"If that is the case, Captain Sparrow," Anne continued and I thought I heard her voice tremble. "I can only assume that you mean to kill my husband this very night."

Sparrow nodded rather slowly. "Aye lass, that I do."

"Oh." Anne took a deep breath, a deep, shuddering breath. "Then I must beg you, Captain, to stay your hand for the very sake of pity. Just last night I birthed a stillborn babe and as I have been in the consumption for nearly a year, the good doctor says there is little time left for me."

Norrington made some indistinct noise and approached Anne. But Sparrow lifted his pistol in a flash.

"Stay where you are."

Norrington froze, though Elizabeth Swann who stood still stood over my wife, seemed to loosen her grasp a bit.

Anne swallowed. "I know then, Captain, that to watch my beloved husband pass before my very eyes…it…it should be the end of me. Will you not pity my plight, Captain Sparrow? I am mother to a little son, who now sleeps safely in his cradle, unaware that he is to become an orphan. Please, allow me one last comfort, one last joy before my end, let me see my husband alive."

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Sparrow frowned.

"Stand up, lass."

Anne sighed. "I cannot, Captain. I have not the strength."

Sparrow beckoned the stocky man. "Gibbs."

"Aye, Captain."

I watched in horror as Gibbs bent over my wife and pulled her up into his arms.

"Sparrow no!" And suddenly I did not care that Turner still had his sword against my stomach. I struggled fiercely.

"I won't do her any harm," Sparrow said quickly. "Calm yourself. I just want to have a little chat with her, eh?"

Before I could say anything else, Anne was carried from the room. Oh how I…

A cabin boy is at the door. He says dinner is to be served. I must write no more now.

Lord Cutler Beckett


	25. Anne: October 3, 1731

****

Author's Note: Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Five of "Rubicon". There will be one more chapter after this one and then the story will be complete. I should also mention that the ending is AU and does not correspond with AWE in any way. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and those that reviewed, **ElfLuver13**, **Faith-Catherine**, **Tiera-Tarie**, **Lady Beckett**, **Astraeas Dreams **and **EvenstarEverlasting**.I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

****

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

October 3, 1731

Dearest Diary,

There is a blue sky above me and oh, it is a most heavenly blue. Clouds dance about the horizon, chased by a brisk wind that even now tugs at the sails. I am sitting on the deck which is open to the setting sun and the waves and the very freshness of life. And I breathe now, deeply, fully and without a trace of pain.

Thanks be to God…and Tia Dalma.

It has only been a short while since we took leave of the Caribbean. I daresay I am glad for it, most glad for it. The only parting sorrow I hold in my heart is that of my poor stillborn daughter. We were forced to bury little Julia in a small graveyard overlooking all of Port Royal and the sea. Oh, I wish that she had been laid to rest on the grounds of our estate in England. It can never be so. But she shall forever remain close to me, in both my heart and mind, though I return home.

Ah England! Such a place I cannot even imagine although it has been my home for nearly all of my life. Oh for those happy green fields and grey moors and quiet country lanes lined with hedges. I have missed it so. Cutler has not admitted it to himself yet (or to me, for that matter) but I do believe he longs for England as well. Perhaps it is a good thing that has happened to us, a blessing sent to dispel our woes. So I view it and mayhap in years to come, so shall my husband.

I must tell of how it all came about, though a terrible thing it may seem. I have pressed Cutler to recount some small part of it. In his current mood, however, I doubt he has treated the subject with thorough care. I shall pick up where he left off then.

It all happened on some frightful night, when I could hear naught but the frantic bellow of cannon and the shriek of musketry. In my bed chamber I lay, waiting for the quiet release of death to take my last breath from me. But I found I could stay no longer and the shadows chased me from that room and out into the street. There I found nothing but chaos and cries as several pirate ships bombarded the town. My own servants ran about, distracted, fearful and ignorant to my demands for help. I realized then that I must go to my husband, alone.

Even now I do not know how I survived the streets. Soldiers poured into the gutters like frightened rats, each grappling with a loaded musket and steely sword. No one noticed me, not one man and I was glad to be invisible in their eyes. I arrived at my husband's office just as the battle reached the streets.

Light gushed into the wide hallway of the building and voices. I fell against the wall. Over the threshold I had passed, exhausted, panting and expecting my life to be swept away from me. But then I heard Cutler speak and I called to him, as if waking from a horrid dream only to find a nightmare at one's doorstep. He did not reply. I dragged myself to the door of his office and stumbled inside.

I remember little of the rest. Hands, I can recall, gripping my shoulders and holding me fast. A devilish smile I remember too and poor Mr. Norrington begging me to flee. My husband alone I saw, standing to the side with a pistol pressed to his throat.

Oh such a shock it was! And oh how my heart beat. I begged for his release, pled with his captor, a man well-known to me through stories and legends, one Captain Jack Sparrow. My husband would have been killed right then and there had Sparrow not exercised surprising mercy. He was - is - a terribly smart man, a man who sees and knows more than the common wretch.

He asked to speak with me. I say asked for he requested my presence politely though I was completely in his power. I could not stand so he ordered his first mate, one Mr. Gibbs, to carry me from the room. Across the hall I was taken and set upon a small wooden chair and Mr. Gibbs left. A lantern lit the small office, once used by Mr. Mercer and the window remained shuttered. From outside I could still hear the rumble of cannon, faint though it was and seemingly distant.

Darkness fell about me, a darkness which the dim lantern light could not pierce. I folded my hands upon my lap and waited for a time. No fear touched my heart, no trace of terror. I was quite resigned to my fate, unhappy as it might be and my thoughts turned only to my husband and dear little son. If only I could spare them, if only!

Shortly afterwards, Captain Sparrow entered, a certain swagger governing his step. Elizabeth Swann and Mr. Norrington followed him, along with that strange woman, that Tia Dalma.

Sparrow bent over me with a smile and I caught sight of the dozen or so baubles that were braided into his hair. He had many gold teeth and wore a red handkerchief twisted about his brow.

"Good evening, madam," he said in a voice that I believed to be mocking. I struggled to sit up straight, but failed, my shoulders sagging beneath a terrible weakness.

"Sir," I said with a nod. His eyes shone.

"Have you come to treat with me then?" he asked, spinning away and pacing before me.

I stayed silent for a long moment and searched for my tongue. Mr. Norrington stepped forward.

"Sparrow, for God's sake, leave her be," he said.

Elizabeth Swann scowled at him and shoved a pistol against his ribs. Mr. Norrington flinched, though I believe it was from some internal pain rather than fear.

"It is fine, James," I assured him at once. "I have indeed come to treat with him."

"Have you brought anything to bargain with?" Sparrow asked with a lavish gesture. I noticed several rings on his fingers.

"No, sir," I said and suddenly felt chilled as I sat there in naught but my cloak and shift. "You have caught me unawares. But take this, if you will, though a small thing it is." And I removed my wedding ring and handed it to him. Sparrow slipped it onto his small finger.

"It'll do for the time, though its not quite enough to save your husband's life."

"I understand," I said. But apparently Mr. Norrington did not.

"Have you no decency?" he asked rather loudly, ignoring the way Elizabeth glared at him.

"Have you?" she snapped.

"Pity a poor, sickly woman, Sparrow," Mr. Norrington continued. "And a mother at that."

Sparrow stared at him for a full minute. "Now, if you ask me, Admiral, its you who is being unfair. Won't even let the lady talk for herself. Not such gentlemanly conduct, eh?"

I gripped the cold arms of my chairs and managed to sit up.

"James, do not worry over me, please," I said.

Mr. Norrington nodded, his handsome face both sad and worn. Sparrow resumed his pacing.

"You hold your own, lass," he said and tapped the back of my chair.

"Thank you," I replied.

"And you are quite a lady at that."

"Thank you."

Sparrow paused and laughed to himself. "Never thought a woman of high-standing would put store in a compliment bestowed by a pirate."

I lifted my chin a little, trying to smile. "I was not thinking of you as a pirate, sir," I said truthfully.

"What then?" he prompted. "What were you thinking?"

I twisted my chilled hands in the folds of my cloak. "Well, sir," I said quietly, "I…I thought you were quite dead."

"Dead?" He spun about, his arms stretched out to the sides. "Do I look dead to you?"

"No, sir," I said. He danced a little jig and touched my shoulder.

"Do I feel dead to you?"

"Sparrow!" Poor Mr. Norrington interrupted again. Sparrow backed away.

"Sorry, mate," he said. "I won't lay a finger on her again. My apologies, Lady Beckett."

"No matter, sir." And I assured him with a nod of my head. "I will say that you do not look or feel dead to me, but my husband did receive numerous reports that told of your…end."

"Bah! What simpleton listens to 'reports'?" He placed his hands on his hips. I blushed.

"My husband and he is a wise man."

"Really?" This seemed to amuse Sparrow greatly. A wide smile exposed his gold teeth once more. "And why do you say that?"

I realized that no answer I might give would prove satisfactory, so I decided to avoid such a pointed question. "I have my reasons," I said.

Sparrow sighed, disappointed of course.

"Aye, that you do, my lady. That you do."

He turned away from me, walking to the shuttered window and undoing the latch.

"But for all your husband's wisdom, me boys are doing a fine job of destroying his fleet," he said.

I tried to swallow away the lump in my throat.

"I wonder what he thinks of that, eh?"

"I do not know, sir," I replied at length. "But I would rather that Cutler lose every single one of his ships than his life."

Sparrow glanced at me over his shoulder, the light of the moon framing his face. "Smart woman. But that's not saying I agree with you."

A moment of silence stretched between us, in which Mr. Turner appeared most agitated.

"Jack," he said quietly. "We cannot stand here all night."

"And who says I intend to?" Sparrow responded. He closed the shutters over the window once more. "What did you do with Beckett?"

"Took him down to the prison with a heavy guard. But Jack, Barbossa has only promised us so much time. His ships are-

"There are more of you?" I asked and then clapped a hand over my mouth. Sparrow chuckled.

"A fair number, my lady. You cannot expect us to challenge the Company without a fine armada of our own."

"How did you amass such ships?" I wished to keep Sparrow engrossed and chatting. I thought perhaps he might be more inclined to release my husband then or some aid would arrive from a neighboring port to save us.

"Word of mouth mostly," Sparrow sniffed. "I am well known enough. And there is no shortage of men in the Brethren that wouldn't want to show the Company a thing or two."

I did not know what to say. Instead, I nodded. Fortunately, Sparrow needed no prompting.

"We had ourselves a fine gathering," he said, spinning away from me. His boots clicked merrily along the floor. "A fine gathering indeed. Never thought I'd see the day when the Brethren would band together. We are most solitary creatures, you know."

"I would imagine so," I replied. "And what of Jones? How did you manage to stop him?"

Sparrow raised a dark eyebrow. "You know of Jones, Lady Beckett?"

"Of course," I said somewhat indignantly. "My husband is an honest man."

Sparrow smiled. "I bet he is. Well, truth be told, it was a bit tricky with Jones. We had old Lizzie and Tia," he paused and gestured to the two women, "come to Port Royal first. But I am sure you know all about that, my lady."

Suddenly, I realized what he meant and suddenly I remembered that my babe was dead.

"I am sorry, my lady," Sparrow said and he truly seemed so. "We never intended to hurt you, never."

I shook my head. "Go on, please."

"Well," Sparrow sighed. "We sent in Lizzie and Tia here. And they were quite a distraction for your husband, they were. Good old Will," he paused again and jerked his head in the direction of the young man. "Good old Will, he managed to sneak in and snatch the heart. No, it wasn't an easy thing, no. He had a hard time of it. Your husband had the place well guarded."

"But he succeeded," I said softly, my head bowed.

"Aye lass, that he did. We destroyed the thing, of course. I think you'll agree that a creature like Jones is best gotten rid of."

"Yes," I replied, "Yes I do." And it pained me to say such. My husband, though well-intentioned, should have never troubled with a creature like Jones. And now that Cutler has lost nearly all of his conquered sea, I think he would agree.

"It's nice to see that you are not your husband's puppet," Sparrow said and he wrinkled his nose. "Most proper wives are. But still, I'm afraid you've not given me one reason to spare your dearly beloved's life."

Tears blurred my gaze. I blinked my eyes once to hide them from Sparrow and his crew. "I do not come to reason," I said at length. "I have come to treat."

"Then treat!" Sparrow waved his arms about. "I've got me ear open."

I took a deep breath. A spasm of pain tightened my lungs. I struggled to speak. "Captain Sparrow, I propose a brief cessation of hostilities. Allow my husband and my son to leave Port Royal and sail to safely in England. Upon reaching England, my husband shall resign from the Company and retire to the countryside for life. Never again shall he trouble you or the Caribbean."

Sparrow seemed to consider. He tapped one long, tan finger against his moustache. "And what of you, my lady?"

"I will stay behind," I replied, "on good faith until my family is safe. Then perhaps you might permit me to join them."

Sparrow looked at me long and hard then. I returned his gaze with steady eyes. He began to speak, but Tia Dalma stepped behind my chair and stopped him.

"Jack," she said and that was all. She laid her hand on my arm. Sparrow raised his eyebrows, then chuckled.

"Bloody hell," he spat. "Lady Beckett, go fetch your husband and son."

Ah, I have no time to finish my narrative. Cutler calls me below deck. Later though, later.

Lady Anne Beckett


	26. Anne: November 15, 1731

****

Author's Note: Well, here it is, the last chapter. I still cannot believe this story is over, but I think it is time to move on to other things. I do have another Beckett fic that I am working on and it should be posted on this site in the very near future. I would like to thank everyone who commented on this story and supported it from day one. Thank you all, for the bottom of my heart. Also, thanks goes out to those of you who reviewed the last chapter, **ElfLuver13, EvenstarEverlasting, SpacePotato, Axelle d'Agincourt **and **Tiera-Tarie. **I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

****

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

November 15, 1731

Dearest Diary,

The carriage rolls on, slowly now, as we crawl further along the road to our estate. Cutler is sleeping and his head is pressed to my shoulder. I do not wish to disturb him, but his weight does make it rather difficult to write. Oh well, so much for little annoyances. I shall do the best I can.

We left the ship and the sea behind last week. I am glad for it. Travel along the waves is not at all pleasant and already, I feel as though I have had enough to satisfy my wanderlust for a lifetime. Cutler too, is more sedated, pleased to be back in England after our troubles in the Caribbean.

He says he is disgraced and resigned from the Company when we first arrived in England. But I think, yes, I think he is rather happy to settle into a quiet sort of life now. I certainly am.

Still, he worries what disciplinary action might be taken against him. I say that we ignore such a trouble until it comes to us. For now, let us relish in the simple joy of our homecoming.

Agnes has gone ahead with our son and she has certainly arrived at the house now. Our homecoming was unexpected and we shall have to spend a night or two with friends until all is made ready.

Oh, I am reminded now. I must write to dear Harriet…and mother.

So much distracts me that I have forgotten to conclude my narrative. Perhaps I have time enough now to continue, yes, I think so.

As it was, Captain Sparrow allowed Mr. Norrington to escort me down to the prison where my husband was kept. Elizabeth Swann went with us, but she did not speak. For that I was grateful. It gave me a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Norrington, for I did not se him again after that night.

He held my arm as we walked and I was obliged to lean upon him. My strength had not recovered so much then and shallow breathing kept my pace slow. Mr. Norrington, however, was patient.

When we came to the entrance of the prison, Mr. Norrington turned about to face me and I saw tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Forgive me," he said and wept. I patted his arm.

"Oh, James." It was all I could say. Mr. Norrington nodded and then did something very shocking. He put both his hands on either side of my face, lowered his head and kissed me.

It was not a kiss born of romantic love, but rather a desperate, pained gesture. I believe he wished only to be comforted and feel a mother's touch.

He drew away at once, looking so ashamed that my heart broke.

"Forgive me," he repeated in a dead voice. I shook my head, casting tears from my eyes. With my hands, I pulled his face close to mine.

"James, you must promise me something," I said. He did not speak. "Please, you must promise me that you will live a happy life after this. Whether it is upon the sea or on the land or in some cottage tucked in a green field, you must promise me this. My heart would be forever broken if I knew you suffered. You have become so dear to me, so very dear to me."

And I wrapped my arms about his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Promise me, James."

"I promise," he said and I knew he meant it. From out of the thick shadows I heard Elizabeth Swann sniff. If she wept I could not tell, but I am certain she did not leave us without an aching heart of her own.

Mr. Norrington and I continued on after that and we did not speak. Down a long, filthy corridor I was led, at the end of which stood Mr. Gibbs and several pirates. A woman also lingered there, with dark skin and wide, bright eyes. I was surprised to learn that she was a pirate as well.

The ruffian guards seemed quite shocked to see Mr. Norrington and I. But Elizabeth Swann was quick to step forward and reassure them.

"Jack's orders," she said and that seemed quite enough for the pirates.

"Is she going in with him?" the dark woman asked. She pointed at me with a long finger.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, Anamaria. He's going out with her."

This seemed to cause a great deal of concern amongst the pirates. They looked at one another and then at Elizabeth and then at me.

"Are you mad, lass?" Mr. Gibbs asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Jack's orders. He's letting them go. Now don't ask me why. I would have killed Beckett on the spot."

I shivered then. Mr. Norrington put his hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, let him out," Elizabeth ordered sourly. There was much grumbling and more than a few curses from the pirates, but soon enough they opened the rusted cell door. My husband stepped out into the corridor.

"Cutler." I said his name very softly, for I feared that any show of wild emotion would only excite the pirates further. Poor Cutler looked quite reduced in appearance. His jacket was off as was his wig and his short brown hair had a decidedly ruffled look about it.

"Anne." Cutler glanced once at the pirates and then at me. "What is this?"

"Come." I dared to step forward and take his arm. "Come, we must leave."

"Leave? Where do we go?"

"Home."

"To our house?"

"No, to England."

He balked and would not move. "To England?" My husband's face paled.

"To England." I nodded.

"But…but how?"

I squeezed his hand tightly. "Captain Sparrow gave us leave. Come now, we must hurry."

"Aye," the female pirate grunted. "We might just change our minds."

My husband clutched my arm and together, we moved down the corridor. Mr. Norrington followed us, as did Elizabeth. When we came to the door, I was informed that James would be detained.

"I am to stay here for a short while," he said with a brave smile, "until you are safely upon your ship."

My heart trembled. "You will not hurt him, will you?" I asked Elizabeth.

She stared at me with bold, angry eyes. "No, we shan't."

"Oh." And once more, I threw my arms about James's neck, ignoring my husband's affronted expression. "Good-bye, James. Good-bye."

Mr. Norrington said nothing. And to this day, I have yet to hear from him again.

Cutler and I slipped out the door. The free, fresh air of the sea enlivened me. I could not help but smile. Cutler, however, seemed nervous.

"Anne, how did you-"

"Why do you linger?" A charmed voice reached my ears. Cutler turned around, his gaze reaching far into the shadows surrounding the prison.

"Who?" he asked, but I already knew. Letting go of his arm, I stepped forward and met Tia Dalma.

"Why do you linger?" she asked me once more.

"We don't," I replied, then glanced at Cutler over my shoulder. "You must go," I said to him, "back to our house. Fetch our son and the few servants that will come with us."

He hesitated for only a moment before slipping away. I turned to face Tia Dalma once more.

"You are a brave woman," she said at length. The moonlight touched her eyes and made them shine.

"I am a dead woman," I said. Tia Dalma frowned.

"Why do you say that now, eh?"

I sighed and pointed to my breast. "The consumption."

She laughed then, loud and shrill. A shiver shot up my spine.

"Oh, child," she said, grasping my hand. "You don't have consumption."

I stared at her, but she only patted my hand. To this day, I dare not explain the incident by any earthly means, but I can say that I have not once coughed.

Have I been cured?

"Go and bury your little babe proper like," Tia Dalma said. "Jack will give you the time, I'll see to it. Go now and don't you ever look back."

I did as she said, finding Cutler at our house in the greatest state of excitement. He wished to know at once just how I had secured his freedom and he swore to high heaven that Sparrow would betray us. I calmed him, as best I could and told him we must bury our dear child and depart. That left him quite sober. Together, we made our way to the small graveyard overlooking the sea and laid little Julia to rest, just as the sun brushed the horizon. And then we did just as Tia Dalma said and I have never once looked back.

The carriage slows now and Cutler stirs awake. I smile and laugh and breathe, all without a trace of pain. Who could ever believe such a miracle? There is some blessing born from pain after all.

I lower the window now and catch a first glimpse of our estate, resplendent in the morning light. The grass is green and quite alive, yes alive.

Lady Anne Beckett

****

The End


End file.
